Warnings: 18+. If y’all don’t like an age gap and a nasty, nasty breeding kink, DO NOT read this shit—I’m serious. Unprotected p-in-v. Daddy kink. Jealous!Joel. Feral!Joel. Cumplay à la sucking Joel’s dick clean after he fucks you.
Note: This is a one shot in the Waiting Game universe. If I had to guess, I’d say it takes place between Homemade & Ruined!
Another Note: ‘Sweet Emotion’ by Aerosmith is the song Joel’s listening to when he’s trying to kill his boner LOL.
Word count: 3.5k
Joel’s mind was always buzzing with bad ideas.
He’d left for work that morning with his dick as hard as steel, balls as heavy as rocks, and you, gorgeous and naked and entirely unfucked in his king-sized bed.
Idiot that he was, he forgot to buy condoms last week. You’d cleared all thirty-six of the rubbers he’d had during your most recent visit from college, and since then, Joel had been meaning to restock, but it just slipped his mind—now, he was suffering the consequences of that oversight in spades, as he hadn’t been able to get his typical fill of you before he left for work. Or last night.
You’d so sweetly suggested some 69 action after he’d picked you up from the airport the night before, knowing just how badly you wanted each other—despite the fact that it was three A.M. and you happened to be ovulating. But it wasn’t meant to be. No sooner had Joel shucked off his boots, jeans, boxers, and shirt and crawled into the space beside you in bed than you were passed out. Snoring loudly and lying splayed between his sheets without the faintest idea of how horny the old man was.
There is something very wrong with me, he thought.
He’d been so pent-up and wild with thoughts of you writhing underneath him, cunt snug around his cock, that he hadn’t even been able to rub one out after that. It was like some maggot had crawled its way inside his head and had him needing insane things. Stupid things.
Shit that would legitimately get him locked up, or kicked to the doghouse, if he ever shared these thoughts aloud.
He wanted to pump you full of cum.
He craved the feeling of you leaking him.
He felt an urge to fill you like he never had before.
Had he really forgotten to buy those condoms last week? Or had it been the workings of his own subconscious mind, begging him to test the waters of what you would look like flush with that milky white substance and drip—
Shit.
Joel almost spilled his piping hot two-dollar coffee from the gas station onto his pants. Again. He cut the wheel and made the turn, set the cup in its little holder, and, without a second thought for his own well-being, cranked the car stereo to fifty. Fuck his hearing.
‘SWEEEEEEEET EMOOOOOTION!’
That should do the trick.
It seemed deafening himself with classic rock was the only way Joel could keep some semblance of composure today. Admittedly, it worked wonders. He learned it was much harder to stay horny when your head was ringing.
Of course, it had been just his luck that before he’d been able to stop by H-E-B to buy rubbers on his lunch break, you’d called and said you needed a ride from the repair shop. Apparently, your dad’s truck was all kinds of fucked up and he’d asked you to drop it off at the mechanic that afternoon. You’d needed a ride home after, and Joel had only too happily, and hornily, obliged.
He was still stiff as shit pulling into the parking lot a minute later. He reached for the radio dial again but quickly found that he’d turned it all the way to its limit.
His phone buzzed in his pants.
Your name was on the screen.
I gotta fill out some bullshit paperwork. Come on in.
You must’ve seen him park the Bronco from inside.
Is that you blasting Aerosmith in your car? 🤨
Joel let out a sigh and shut off the engine.
Readjusting his rock-hard cock in his jeans, he went in.
And the moment he stepped in there, he regretted it. Joel got exactly one foot inside the door before his eyes nearly bugged out of his head and his jaw hit the floor.
You were signing paperwork alright—bent over the front desk where everyone in the waiting room of the repair shop could see right up your miniskirt. Joel choked.
There had to be fifteen men in there, at least. All but one old guy dozing off in the corner were gawking at your backside pushed up in the air. Joel saw you shuffle some papers around, eyeball a form and pose a question to the man behind the desk, who was also trying his damndest not to stare, and then hum something low. You laughed.
You were so naïve.
As if a switch had flipped in his head and every thought thenceforth was from a place of being an overprotective, asshole-ish, caveman of a guy, Joel strode in, scowling.
He shot pointed, putrid looks of disdain at every shameless voyeur drinking you in with their eyes, and, to his surprise, a couple turned their gazes guiltily away.
That’s right. Keep your fucking eyes to yourself.
Then, without even really meaning to think it:
She’s all mine. So don’t get your hopes up.
Would anyone in there think you were with him? Did it even matter? In that moment, Joel didn’t give a shit. He just walked in with his head up, jaw clenched, and eyes shooting daggers at every scumbag who dared to keep looking. He approached the front desk just as you turned
“Oh! Hey.” You breathed a sound of surprise, smiling. “You scared the shit out of me. I’ll just be a minute.”
You had about thirty seconds before he yanked you out by that little skirt and drilled you on the hood of his car.
Instead of saying that, though, Joel just frowned.
“C’mon, kid, I got places to be. Hurry it up.”
You flashed him a puzzled look but said nothing in reply. He hadn’t expected you to, seeing how occupied you were with discussing your old man’s truck’s transmission flush, tire rotation, wiper blade replacement, and on and on and on until Joel’s head was spinning with all the jargon. Since when did you know about ignition coils?
No matter.
Just a few more action items to parse through, then you’d swipe your card and get the hell out of there.
“I mean…do y’all have to replace that cabin air filter? Can’t my dad do that himself? Or just wait a little bit?”
Surely you knew you were torturing him now.
There was no way you weren’t doing this on purpose.
The shop employee scratched the back of his neck and gave a sheepish smile, right after he’d unglued his gaze from the cleavage spilling out of your top. He coughed.
“Well…well, uh, see here, our last service report says…”
Joel didn’t give a flying fuck what the service report said. He tuned out the rest of what the little pervert was trying to tell you then and turned to face the waiting room with a flinty, stern look. Several sets of eyes snapped away.
One in particular, he noticed, didn’t flinch at all.
Of course it belonged to some shit-brained kid. Probably only two or three years out of high school and ogling you like a slab of meat while his father sat beside him, trying to do the same but slightly more discreetly. How polite.
It was almost as if Joel had acquired some supersonic hearing ability over the last five minutes, and he could somehow tell what the ass-hat was muttering to his dad.
‘Hell, I’d like to bend her over a desk myself.’
His father grinned, eyes wandering again.
‘Yeah. I bet she’d like that. Love it, even.’
Fuck this.
Technically, Joel hadn’t heard the words come out of their mouths, but the intentions had been behind their eyes all the same. He hated it. The longer he stood here with you, the more the odds grew he’d end up decking someone, or throwing a chair at their head, so he swiftly tilted and pressed a touch to your elbow. It amazed him how gentle it was, given the bloodlust percolating within.
“Honey, we need to go,” he told you, voice low.
“What?” You turned. Brows furrowing. “Why?”
Because every swinging dick in this establishment wants to get in you. Let’s dip before I kill someone.
“Because I’m paying for all the repairs. C’mon.”
Before Joel could even begin to contemplate the ramifications of this offer—exactly how much cash he’d be blowing on his best friend’s truck thanks to his impulsiveness—he slid his credit card across the desk and jerked his head toward the door. Telling you to go.
“Joel, you can’t—” you’d just started to say.
“Now that’s a real fine thing to do for your daughter, b—”
It was the latter of these two statements, seemingly spoken at once, that Joel paid any mind at all. The stranger behind the desk’s thinking that he was your dad, and not your partner, made his blood boil beneath the skin. His conviction to do this only grew stronger.
Suddenly, Joel was turning his body to you. Leaning down, gripping your chin in one hand, and letting his mouth land firmly on yours, so that there would be no mistaking who he was, or what he was to you. Not today.
Your lips were warm, and they kissed him back gently. When he’d pulled away, your face, and every expression around yours was painted with some degree of surprise.
The man behind the desk cleared his throat: ‘Uh, sorry.’
Not the dad. Got it.
Joel was glad to spread the message, even if your gaze was lingering on his with a wordless little threat, like you would get him for this. He just grinned and nodded to the door again, then watched you leave, skirt swishing and bobbing all the way to the door. Hardly any eyes followed now, as most were too busy flitting to him.
Good.
Great.
“That’ll be $4,898.72, sir.”
Goddamn.
You hadn’t seen Joel this feral in ages.
Hell, maybe ever.
His cock seemed to be cleaving your body in half with how hard his thrusts were coming in now. How loud those wet slaps against the swell of your ass rang out through the cramped backseat of his car, how deep his tip sank, and how quickly the motions repeated, like Joel was beating a drum somewhere far down in your cervix.
Your eyes rolled. Jaw slackened. Tongue darted from either corner of your lips to lap away the spit that was trickling out. Joel was fucking you that hard. His strokes jostled your body, dick wedging deep and unforgiving, and his eyes were alight with a look you couldn’t quite decipher. Your own vision was blurring at the edges.
“Tell me it’s mine,” Joel panted against your neck.
Then, as if his hips had been made to pummel at this relentless, frantic pace, he lowered his torso to yours and drilled away even quicker. The force and the friction were so great you had only to grip his forearms and meet his gaze, barely able to get the words out: ‘Y—Yours, Joel.’
Doing this the day after your period tracker claimed you’d been ovulating probably wasn’t the best idea. Insane as he was with desire, the thought did also seem to cross Joel’s mind as he pounded away. More than once, his brow pinched, and his hips made as if to stutter to a halt. Then the need kicked in. The thing picked up again, harder than it had before, and Joel was back to fucking you hard on the upholstered seats of his Bronco.
Above you, his jaw clenched. His teeth ground tighter.
“This…” he grit out, as if words evaded him. “…OK?”
Yes, Joel.
You’d never seen such bare-faced need from him in all your life, and you loved it. It wasn’t just the expression of a man in love—which he was—but also the face of a person in pain. Someone whose need for your touch was so agonizingly great that he was blind to anything else. Joel lifted his arms to bracket your head so he could get in even closer, and his frantic pants warmed your cheeks. Come evening, you’d happily be popping Plan Bs like candy if it meant another moment of seeing him like this.
Sweat glistened on his brow and in between spatterings of silver and black along his jaw. His gaze was hard and determined, like he was contemplating something else.
Slowly, and with legs trembling against his sides at every thrust, you reached to cup his face. You stroked it gently.
“Is—Is everything alri—”
“I wanna cum inside you.”
Joel’s voice was deadpan, with no preamble or warning. Mere inches from your face, his own was twisted in that strange, pained look. His cock twitched; its pace slowed.
Your walls clamped around him instinctively. You blinked.
“W-What?”
“Wanna fill you up.”
There wasn’t a shred of hesitation in his tone as his hips rocked steadily against you. If anything, his grip grew even tighter, like he was trying to press you down.
“But Joel, I’m—” Another clench. Another strangled breath. “I still might…be…ovulating. And you’re…”
“Old enough to be your father, ain’t I?” he sneered. “Least, that’s what everybody in that shop seemed to think. What if you made me one today, hm, sweet pea?”
He didn’t mean it.
Joel knew how bad it’d be if he really knocked you up. Just the same, you couldn’t contain the sharp, startled whimper as his cock stirred inside you and that thought took shape—his hot and sticky seed being shot in ropes, painting your needy walls, making you so, so full of him.
Your lizard brain didn’t bat an eye at that.
Blame it on ovulation, a glaring oversight in sex education, your undoubtedly compromised morals or whatever the case may have been, but you wanted it.
You needed him in, making a mess where he shouldn’t.
With sunlight bathing you both in the backseat of Joel’s car, classic rock drifting through the speakers, and one handsome, weathered, earnest expression hovering over yours with the faintest of smiles, how could you refuse?
He sped up again. The hands that had slid to your hips constricted to an almost suffocating level, but it was possessive. Protective. Envy sparked in Joel’s eyes.
“Don’t want nobody oglin’ what’s mine, y’hear?”
It was a question, but it didn’t warrant a reply.
You nodded anyway, watching the older man’s gaze shift from your eyes to your lips to your breasts to, eventually, the sight of his length plunging in and out of your body below. Your eyes trailed after it, and you watched one hand of his move from your hip to your ribs. Rubbing.
Your wet and pliant hole took him with ease and welcomed him in. The sounds of your shared fluids were obscene, but it made the kind of wild, dizzying refrain you knew you wouldn’t be able to forget for years, if ever.
Slowly, Joel’s palm slid over, and his fingers splayed out.
His hand rested flat against your belly as he fucked you with abandon. At a particularly deep thrust, it was as if you felt him all the way up in your lungs, and your throat pushed out a cry. Your legs tightened around Joel’s waist, and you knew the end wasn’t far from sight.
“All—All—All yours, daddy. Cum in me, please.”
Joel’s fingers flexed gently on your tummy, then he moved them back and forth as his dick did the same.
The friction nearly sent your mind in a spiral; you glanced down, and you saw his outline, faintly, under that touch.
Joel was so big, and your body was lying perfectly supine on the seat that you could feel him—see him—push repeatedly inside you. A little bulge took shape where his hand was pressing in, and the sensation was overwhelming. Your hands slid to Joel’s hair and yanked.
“Fill me—wanna feel you, daddy, please just fill me—”
“Think a little swell in that belly’ll keep those boys from lookin’, huh? Is that what I gotta do to show ‘em you’re—”
“Yes! Fuck!” you whined.
“—always gonna be mine?”
Joel’s thrusts were relentless. Your brain was on the fritz. Your hips tried to lift, mindlessly, begging him to fill you with his cum, but the man had you pinned underneath him. Sweat drenched you both, and the wildest ideas were humming between you. You were almost there.
“That’d be one way to tell your dad, huh?” Joel panted.
Oh, fuck.
“Have you come home from college all swole up with my kid—he couldn’t keep us apart then, huh?” he went on.
Your father would probably skin him alive if he found out. Still, your lips parted, and you dumbly, sweetly mumbled, OK, OK, Joel. Give me one. Make me a mommy, please.
Joel almost lost his hold on your hip and your belly with that last part; he all but folded in on you with that request. Breathily, through his teeth, he gritted:
“You mean that, baby?”
Again, you nodded.
Momentarily forgetting the outline of his cock in your tummy, the thought of seeing you leaking his cum and squirming for more, it seemed, Joel just sank into you.
He bracketed his arms around your head like he had before, flattened his chest to yours, and fucked you.
It was primal. Needy. Wet. Insatiable. You probably looked feral and senseless, and neither of you cared.
Overhead, the strains of an old ZZ Top song reached a crescendo, and Joel’s eyes stayed locked on yours. His cock stretched you in a way that seemed implausible—you felt him from root to tip and could sense the oncoming pulses before they ever left a drop.
Then Joel kissed you. In his warm, soft, and loving way, his lips melded to yours and caressed them continually. Though it might’ve only lasted a few seconds, the effect was profound, and you found yourself pulling him deeper. Squeezing him tight and taking him whole.
“You really wanna have a baby with me, Miller?”
“Nope.” Joel’s response was instantaneous.
“Wh—”
“Eight kids, at least. You OK with that?”
If you weren’t on the verge of climax, you would’ve laughed in his face. But because you were, and you happened to be head over heels in love with this man, you grinned, nodding. Joel smiled and kissed you again.
“Alright. First one’s comin’ now if you’ll just—oh, fuck.”
It seemed like Joel wanted to drag things out a little longer, but his body had other plans. Yours did, too.
Right as your walls clenched and your senses started to flood with those sweet, euphoric feelings, Joel’s cock throbbed once. Twice. Again and again, unleashing ropes of his cum in a seemingly endless stream. Your heels dug deep in Joel’s back, and your jaw fell open, instinctively. While that sticky-wet warmth filled your insides and Joel continued pounding away, a shriek clawed out from you.
It started as a cry and quickly morphed into a moan, shrill as anything: “Please, baby. Please, please, please.”
You never thought you’d want to upend your life with a child before you even graduated from school or got a job.
Joel clearly hadn’t been planning for that either, and still, his voice was as slow and sweet as molasses in your ear.
“Take it all now, darlin’. That’s it. That’s my girl. So good.”
He stroked your hair and emptied himself completely. His balls must’ve been drained, because you could sense what felt like a torrent of warmth between your legs.
When he pulled out, you both groaned at the sight.
Joel was drenched in his cum and yours. Dripping.
Still oozing a little at the tip, the old man was spent, and it appeared he was about to give himself a good shake and wipe it all off, when you stopped Joel in his tracks.
Your mouth watered as you watched him. You swallowed.
You didn’t even bother to ask for what you wanted, just stuck out your tongue and peered up with doe eyes.
Joel groaned and nodded. He shuffled closer and lowered himself in until his tip was at your mouth.
Your lips closed around him, and your head bobbed down. As his cock filled you whole, your mind went blank. It wasn’t even a matter of sucking him off or getting him clean; you just needed to feel and taste the cum that had sprayed your insides. You craved the scent of the sweet, affectionate man who was well over twice your age and still on board with giving you his babies.
Even if it was just a fantasy between you both…for now.
You hadn’t even realized your eyes had closed until your lips slipped off him with a pop, and your vision suddenly brightened. You eyed Joel curiously from below, and your heart skipped a beat when you could see he was smiling.
Before he could speak, or else try to clean you up any himself, your own lips twitched a little at the corners. Your gaze searched Joel’s with a soft, tender intensity, and for a second, you debated whether or not to say it.
Quickly, you made your choice.
Just as Joel was about to lean down to reach for his clothes, maybe search the floor for a clean t-shirt or towel to wipe you both down with, his eyes were still glued to yours, and your grin was slowly growing bigger.
Joel cocked a brow in question, and you went on ahead, fighting the urge to laugh while you said, sweet as ever:
“So…it looks like my little miniskirt trick actually worked.”
And if I said Reader got pregnant with twins…THEN WHAT
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description — you hitch hike to escape your small town, but the man that picks you up isn't the savior you initially see him as.
word count — 11,886
tags — dead dove do not eat!!! smut, noncon, age gap, drugging, perv joel obviously, body betrayal, throat-fking, creampie, forced breeding, what else is there to miss? oh, he spits in your mouth once. this is actually evil and entirely self-indulgent. read at your own risk. this is not meant to romanticize or promote the behavior written and is purely fantasy. THIS GETS SUPER DARK SUPER FAST, BEWARE !!!!
notes — this has been hiding away in my wips for almost a year, and I finally rushed out the ending. so yeah, kinda sucks near the end, but i was gooning writing it, so sue me.
You sighed sharply, letting your arm fall to your side for what felt like the hundredth time. The weight of the sun pressed heavily on your shoulders, the heat clinging to you like a second skin. A warm breeze teased strands of your damp hair from your face, a mercy against the uv rays. Tilting your head back, you gazed at the expanse of blue sky that had darkened in the hours you stood on the side of the road, your patience steadily unraveling like an old, worn thread.
How hard could it be to hitch a damn ride?
All you wanted was to escape the stifling monotony of this rundown, bumfuck-nowhere town. Where time seemed to crawl and every day bled into the next. There was nothing to do except drink cheap beer in collapsing barns with the people your age you could tolerate—which, frankly, wasn’t many. Your graduating class had barely scraped together two hundred students, and most of them were already neck-deep in their great-grandparents’ conservative, redneck ideologies, content to stay trapped in the same traditional, endless loop you were desperate to escape.
Entertainment options were laughably slim, unless you counted gossiping at the diner or staring at the peeling wallpaper of your living room. The highlight of the week was usually a herd of cattle escaping or a barn dance, where everyone pretended their lives weren’t as dull as dishwater.
It was no wonder that generations before had filled their houses to the brim with children. After all, raising a family gave them something to do, a purpose to cling to in the otherwise monotonous grind of small-town life. And maybe, just maybe, it helped fill the silence that crept in at night, the kind that even wolf songs couldn’t drown out.
It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At night, the air hummed with the songs of frogs and crickets, a sound that felt almost sacred. The stars lit up the sky in a way that was impossible to see from the city, their light twinkling like scattered diamonds. Fireflies blinked alongside them, tiny, fleeting beacons in the dark. Those moments, rare and quiet, made this place almost bearable.
Almost.
But Christ on a cross, when the sun rose, it brought the same crushing realization: there was nothing for you here. Nothing except Sunday mornings at church, where people whispered behind hymnals and dissected the sins of their neighbors, the same people they'd smile brightly at as they prayed for blessings to come to them. At least they handed out free donuts. Small mercies, you thought bitterly, kicking at a loose pebble on the cracked asphalt beneath your feet.
You adjusted the straps of your backpack, the weight of it pressing uncomfortably against your spine. The highway stretched ahead in an unbroken line, a mirage shimmering in the distance, promising freedom just out of reach. All you needed was someone to pull over, just one car willing to take you somewhere—anywhere—that wasn’t here.
You even went so far as to wear the most revealing clothes you could find, not that your wardrobe had much to offer in that department. A perverted driver was still a driver, and at this point, you were desperate. You’d taken scissors to an old shirt, hacking it into a crop top that bared your midriff. The fabric was frayed and uneven, but it did the job. Your shorts were another matter entirely, uncomfortably tight and clearly too small, leftovers from when you were a kid. The waistband dug into your skin, and you had to keep tugging them down to avoid cutting off circulation.
God forbid any girl showed an ounce of skin in this town. The stares you got on your way out were enough to make you want to sprint out, but you were banking on that very same scrutiny to catch the attention of a passing car. Modesty might have been the golden rule here, but you weren’t above breaking it if it got you out of this dead-end stretch of nowhere.
You felt ridiculous, humiliated even, but the thought of staying here was far worse than enduring the leering eyes of some old man. You were used to that already. Men in this town had a way of looking at you like you were an object on a shelf they might pick up, inspect, and set back down when they were done. You’d learned to ignore it, to shrug off the uncomfortable heat of their stares and the muttered comments you pretended not to hear.
This was just more of the same, except now you were using it to your advantage. If showing a little skin meant one of those creeps would stop and offer you a ride out of this godforsaken town, then so be it. Dignity wasn’t exactly high on your list of priorities right now—freedom was.
If only one of these fuckers would actually stop. You’d been standing here long enough to feel the sunburn creeping across your shoulders, sweat pooling at the small of your back. You threw your arm out every time, trying to look as pitiful, or enticing, as possible, but all you got in return were waves of hot air as they sped by.
Was it just your town where men stared at women like predators? Or was that just how men were everywhere? You had no way of knowing. Your entire life had been spent here, in this suffocating bubble of prying eyes and wagging tongues. Sometimes you wondered if the rest of the world was different, or if the same lecherous glances and whispered judgments waited for you on the other side of this horizon.
Still, staying here wasn’t an option. Even if the grass wasn’t greener anywhere else, at least it would be different grass. And different was all you were asking for.
You were snapped out of your thoughts by the thunderous roar of an engine, deep and rumbling, shaking the stillness of the road. A semi. Your heart leapt, both with hope and a twinge of unease. You’d heard the stories, truck drivers were lonely old men who’d fuck anything with a heartbeat, and even that was a stretch. The thought made your stomach twist, but desperation outweighed caution.
Throwing your arm out again, thumb raised high, you focused on the massive vehicle barreling toward you. The sheer size of it was almost intimidating, the largest thing you’d seen on the road. Its grill gleamed in the sunlight like a steel beast, and you could already hear the hiss of brakes as it began to slow down.
This was it. Maybe luck was finally on your side—or maybe you were about to make the worst mistake of your life. Either way, it wasn’t like you had much to lose.
The semi groaned to a stop a few yards ahead of you, its engine idling. The driver’s side door creaked open, and out stepped a man, an old man, just as you’d expected.
His hair was almost completely gray, though uneven splotches of the lighter color dotted his scruffy beard like it couldn’t decide whether to age gracefully or not.
The glare of the sun bounced off the truck, making it hard to get a clear look at him, but you could tell enough. He was much larger than you, his frame broad and solid like he’d spent his life lifting things far heavier than the backpack you hauled. His hair had a slight curl to it, messy and unkempt, like he hadn’t seen a comb in days.
He tilted his head toward the passenger side, gesturing with his chin as he spoke. His voice was deep, slow, and unmistakably southern.
"Well, don’t just stand there, girl. You need a ride or what?"
There wasn’t much kindness in his tone, but there wasn’t any malice, either. Just a bluntness that matched the heat of the day. Your hesitation lingered for a moment before you nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat.
You all but scaled up the side of the truck, your legs shaky from a mix of exhaustion and the strain of hauling yourself up. The heat of the day clung to you, making every movement feel heavier than it should have. By the time you managed to get one foot inside, your muscles were screaming in protest.
The older man was already back in his seat, one wrist draped lazily over the steering wheel. He chewed on a wad of tobacco, the sound wet and unmannered as he watched you crawl in with a measured gaze. His eyes flickered up and down your figure, lingering just long enough to make your skin crawl. You swore you saw his hand shift subtly, adjusting himself as a low groan escaped your lips from the effort.
You settled into the passenger seat, the cracked leather sticking to your bare thighs. His stare lingered for a moment too long at the way they expanded before he finally spit into an old plastic bottle by his side.
“Where ya headin’, sweetheart?” he drawled, his lips curling into a half-smirk that didn’t reach his eyes.
Now that the sun was no longer blinding you, you could finally get a good look at him. To your surprise, he wasn’t all that bad-looking. In fact, he was quite handsome in a rugged, weathered sort of way. His deep chocolate-brown eyes had a sad look to them, like they had seen more than they cared to share. His nose was prominent, giving his face a bold, defined structure that worked with the lines etched into his skin. Those wrinkles, instead of detracting from his appearance like you'd expect them too, seemed to enhance his features.
Your eyes flicked to his hands resting on the wheel. They were large, rough-looking, the scarred, calloused kind of hands that did hard labor. An old, scratched watch clung to his wrist, the leather strap worn and glass cracked, but still functional.
Practical, like him, you figured.
Despite the circumstances, you found yourself momentarily distracted by his appearance.
“Well?” he asked again, the smirk on his face still lingering as he spit tobacco into his bottle. “Where ya headed?”
You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of the seat. “Anywhere but here,” you muttered, your voice low but firm.
He chuckled at that, a low rumble that seemed to reverberate through the cab. “Fair enough. Lucky for you, I ain’t goin’ anywhere near here for a good long while. Buckle up, sweetheart.”
You slid your backpack off your shoulders, letting it rest on your lap as your fingers found the charms hanging from the zippers. You twisted them absentmindedly, trying to occupy your mind and ignore the creeping weight of his gaze. The truck didn't move. Confused, you glanced at the gear shift, expecting to see his hand on it. Instead, his hand rested on his thigh, his fingers tapping lazily against his jeans.
Looking up, you caught him staring at you again, his dark eyes locked on yours for a moment before shifting downward. He sighed, tilting his head slightly like he was deciding what to do next. Without saying a word, he leaned toward you.
Your breath hitched as he closed the space between you, his face so close you could almost feel the faint stubble on his jaw and the silver strands in his hair. His arm brushed your shoulder as he reached for your seatbelt.
"Seatbelt's stuck," he muttered, though you hadn't even tried to buckle it yourself. His large hands gripped the strap and gave it a few tugs, his breath fanning across your cheek as he grunted, the plastic clicked before the webbing slid free and he pulled it across your chest.
The motion seemed smooth at first, but you stiffened when his knuckles grazed the curve of your breast. He didn't pause or acknowledge it. His gaze wasn't on the seatbelt or even his hands, it was fixed lower, right where the strap pressed against your chest. His eyes lingered there shamelessly.
He adjusted the strap, tugging it tighter against your chest, his fingers brushing over the swell more than once. The way he moved was deliberate, too slow to be casual, like he was testing how far he could push before you said something.
It didn't feel accidental, but it wasn't obvious enough for you to call him out on it, either. Your throat tightened, and you froze, unsure whether to flinch or let him finish.
“There,” he muttered, his voice low and rough, as he clicked the belt into place. For a moment, he didn’t move, his face lingering close enough for you to see the faint lines around his eyes and the uneven streaks of gray in his beard. Then, without a word, he leaned back into his seat with a grunt, as though the small task had been a chore.
His hand moved to the gear shift, and the truck rumbled forward, pulling onto the road with a jolt. “Can’t have you flyin’ out the windshield,” he said, his voice laced with dry humor.
You didn’t respond, your heart still racing from the unnecessary closeness. Staring out the window, you gripped the straps of your backpack tightly, trying to shake off the lingering feeling of his hands, unease prickling along your skin.
Joel glanced at the cracked dashboard clock, tapping it lightly with his knuckle as if that would somehow make the time change. "We’ll probably hit a truck stop in a few hours," he said, his voice breaking the long silence in the cab.
He finally broke the silence with a grunt and a glance at the dashboard. “’Bout two ‘til we hit the next one,” he said, shifting in his seat and rolling his neck like it ached. “Gonna pull in there, grab some food. Might get a room if the lot ain’t full.”
You didn’t look at him, just nodded a little, eyes fixed on the streak of pavement disappearing beneath the truck. “Okay.”
He glanced at you then, like he was waiting for more. When you didn’t say anything, he added, “They got showers too, y’know. Clean ones. Not five-star or nothin’, but they get the job done.”
“Cool,” you murmured, trying to sound neutral, like you weren’t clocking every word.
Then he smirked a little—just a flicker, barely there, but you caught it. “Don’t worry, you can have your own bed,” he said, voice low, tone meant to be reassuring but sitting wrong in your gut. “Unless, uh... you’d rather save a few bucks.”
You turned to look at him, your expression unreadable. “I’ve got cash,” you said, flatly.
“Didn’t mean nothin’ by it,” Joel said with a chuckle, eyes flicking to your chest again, not even subtle about it this time. “Just jokin’ around.”
You looked away, jaw tightening.
He scratched his beard, shifting in his seat again. “You’re real quiet,” he said after a moment. “Kinda figured a girl like you’d be more talkative.”
“A girl like me?” you asked, without looking at him.
“Yeah,” he drawled, his tone casual as his fingers drummed against the steering wheel. “C’mon you ain't exactly dressed for church, honey.” He turned to you with a grin.
You rolled your eyes before you forced yourself to focus on the landscape outside, the golden hues of the setting sun casting long shadows across the empty fields. But even as you tried to tune him out, you could feel his gaze darting toward you. It wasn’t constant, but it was enough to set your nerves on edge—quick, almost imperceptible glances at your legs, your chest, the curve of your neck.
Every time you caught him, he shifted slightly, like he hadn’t been looking at all. His fingers rubbed idly against his thigh, the movement subtle but deliberate.
“Don’t get too quiet on me now,” he said after a moment, his voice breaking the uneasy silence. “A guy can only handle so much quiet before he starts gettin’ lonely.”
You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye. “I’m just tired,” you muttered, hoping that would be enough to end the conversation.
“Tired, huh?” Joel’s smirk widened as he leaned back in his seat, one hand lazily adjusting his belt. “Bet you’ve had a long day, stickin’ that pretty thumb out on the highway. Lucky for you I came along. Not everyone out here’s as friendly as me.”
The way he said “friendly” made your stomach churn. You shifted in your seat, pretending to adjust your backpack as an excuse to look away. “Yeah,” you said flatly, unsure of what else to say.
He chuckled again, a deep, gravelly sound that filled the cab. “You know,” he started, his tone turning thoughtful, “truck stops ain’t so bad. Some of ’em even got little diners... Hell, if you’re lucky, you might even find a little entertainment.”
You glanced at him sharply, but he kept his eyes on the road, his expression unreadable. You gritted your teeth, damn religious upbringings, you forced yourself to be polite and dryly humor his conversation. “What kind of entertainment?”
Joel shrugged, his fingers still idly tapping his thigh. “Depends on the stop. Some got TVs, little gift shops... and sometimes, you meet interestin’ people. Y’know, folks passin’ through, lookin’ for a little... company.”
Your pulse quickened, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m not really looking for company,” you said quickly.
His grin widened, and he let out another low chuckle. “Didn’t think you were, sweetheart.”
You turned back to the window, your heart pounding as the shadows outside grew longer. The truck rumbled on, the uneasy tension between you thickening with every mile.
The truck’s turn signal clicked lazily, a rhythmic tick that cut through the hum of the engine as Joel guided the semi off the highway and into the glow of the truck stop.
The lights hit first, flickering fluorescents mounted on leaning poles, casting long shadows across the cracked pavement. The parking lot was littered with rigs and pickups, a few scattered sedans, and the occasional figure ducking in and out of the convenience store’s heavy glass doors. Beyond that, a rundown diner and a flickering neon sign that buzzed louder than it glowed. It wasn’t much, two diesel pumps, a few bent metal benches out front, and a crooked billboard advertising pie that probably hadn’t been served fresh since the Reagan administration, and behind it, the shape of a small roadside motel slumped under a sagging roofline.
Joel shifted the truck into park with a heavy hand and let out a grunt, stretching his arms above his head until his back cracked. His faded shirt lifted just enough to reveal a strip of his stomach, leathery and scarred. He caught you looking, not at that, exactly, just observing the place, but he smirked like you’d been staring.
“Not bad, huh?” he said, pulling the key out of the ignition. “Cozy little stopover.”
You looked out at the rows of trucks and diesel pumps, trying not to fidget. The stillness inside the cab after the engine died was sudden, as if the noise from the it had been cushioning something you didn’t want to feel.
You said nothing, unbuckling your seatbelt with a quick snap and reaching for your backpack, your fingers finding those familiar charms again. You rolled one between your thumb and forefinger, grounding yourself. The tension in your chest hadn’t left since you climbed into the truck. If anything, it’d only settled deeper.
Joel opened his door and climbed out with a grunt. “Food’s better than it looks,” he said over the roar of the diesel engine cooling off. “Diner’s got burgers, eggs, hash. All the heart-attack bullshit you could ever want.”
You followed after a beat, the door heavier than you expected. He waited for you at the base of the steps, one hand resting on the open door like he was holding it open for a date. You stepped down, trying not to flinch as his eyes moved with you, tracking every inch.
You stared past him at the diner, its windows fogged and glowing yellow under too-dim lights. A man smoked on a bench by the door. He looked tired. Everyone here did.
Joel jerked his chin toward the motel attached to the back of the lot. “Gonna check if they got any rooms left,” he said, spitting a wad of his chewing tobacco into the dirt. “You hungry, or what?”
“Yeah,” you said, your voice flatter than you intended. “Starving.”
He grinned at that, like it pleased him. “Go on then, I'll meet'cha.”
Inside, the diner smelled like grease and bleach, two things that didn’t mix well. The waitress behind the counter didn’t look up when you entered, too focused on a crossword puzzle. Joel slid into a booth a few minutes after you had, patting the cracked vinyl across from him.
The seat felt sticky. He leaned back, one arm stretched lazily across the backrest like he owned the place, the other already reaching for a menu he clearly didn’t need.
“Go ahead,” he said, nodding at you. “Order whatever. I’ll cover it.”
You eyed him, unsure if it was kindness or another invisible string. He caught your look and smirked.
“C’mon. Not tryna poison you. Just don’t like eatin’ alone.”
You nodded slowly, glancing down at the menu as he watched you over the top of his.
Joel leaned back in the booth, the vinyl seat creaking under his weight. One arm sprawled across the top, the other cradling his plastic cup of water. He let out a long sigh, an exaggerated exhale, like he was trying to be noticed.
“Been on the road five weeks straight,” he muttered, glancing out the window like he might spot someone he used to know. “Start talkin’ to myself if I don’t get some damn conversation.”
You looked up, cautious. He smiled, but it was thin. Forced.
“Life gets quiet when you get to my age. Too damn quiet, sometimes,” he said, fingers tapping idly against the side of his cup. “Wife gone. Kids don’t call. Truck’s about the only thing still wants me 'round.”
He chuckled softly, but there wasn’t much humor in it. More like he expected a certain reaction and didn’t care if it was genuine.
“That’s why I don’t mind pickin’ up company when I can,” he added, taking a sip and eyeing you over the rim. “Makes the road feel less... long.”
You didn’t respond, just nodded faintly. He didn’t seem to care—he’d already settled into his little performance.
“Not askin’ for much,” Joel went on, looking down at his calloused hands. “Just someone to talk to. Hearin’ a pretty voice now and again reminds me I’m still 'round, y’know?”
His eyes flicked to your mouth when he said it.
“Hell, you don’t even gotta talk if you don’t want, face's pretty 'nough on its own,” he added with a little grin, eyes crinkling like he was doing you a favor. “I’ll just ramble on till I lose my voice. You can pretend I ain’t even here.”
You raised an eyebrow. “Seems like you want someone to listen to you talk till your mouth hurts.”
That got a chuckle out of him. “Alright, fair,” he said, scratching at his beard. “I like a little attention. Guilty as charged.”
The waitress came over, tired eyes scanning the table. Joel ordered without looking at the menu—“bacon cheeseburger, extra pickles, fries, and a Coke,” before nodding at you to go ahead.
As you gave your order, you could feel his gaze on your face, lingering just a tad too long on your lips when you spoke. When the waitress walked off, Joel leaned back again with a grunt.
“Bet you think I’m some sad old bastard,” he said, smirking.
You tilted your head slightly. “You don’t seem all that sad.”
He laughed again, low and knowing. “Don’t gotta be sad to be lonely, darlin’.”
He said it so easily, like it was the kind of thing he’d said a hundred times before. Like it worked on someone, once.
There was something off about the way he spoke—too rehearsed, maybe. Like he’d said this all before. The “poor old man” routine. Alone on the road, no family, no one to talk to. It felt... thin.
Still, something about it tugged at you.
Maybe it was the way he sighed after every sentence, like he didn’t expect you to care. Maybe it was the worn in look behind his eyes.
You glanced down at your lap, your fingers twisting the zipper of your backpack until it bit into your skin.
You knew better. You really did. People didn’t get like this for no reason. Men didn’t hand out kindness for free. But even as your gut whispered caution, another part of you, smaller, quieter, felt bad for him.
He wasn’t pushing anything. Not yet. And you were tired. Not just from standing on the side of the road, but from months of going nowhere, of waiting for someone, anyone, to see you.
Joel caught your eye again, that half-smile still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Didn’t mean to lay it on thick,” he said, almost sheepish now. “Guess I don’t talk to people much these days. Gettin' rusty.”
You tried to smile, but it came out just as performative as his. “It’s fine. I get it.”
He tapped a finger against his glass, his tone softening. “You runnin’ from somethin’?” he asked, not accusing, just curious.
You hesitated. “Not really. Just… done with where I came from.”
Joel nodded like he understood. Maybe he did. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with wantin’ out. Some places don’t give you much reason to stay.”
His voice was quieter now, less performative. For a second, it felt more real. Or maybe you just wanted it to.
You studied him for a beat longer—his hands, his eyes, the worn creases in his skin. You could still feel the phantom touch of his fingers pulling your seatbelt earlier, still see the way his gaze had lingered a second too long.
But right now, he looked tired. Lonely. And something in you, despite everything, softened just a little.
“I appreciate the ride,” you said quietly. “Really.”
Joel looked at you for a second, then nodded once and leaned back again. “Ain’t no trouble,” he said. “Like I said, road gets real damn quiet.”
You both fell into silence after that, the kind that wasn’t entirely comfortable.
He’d tried to make small talk over greasy plates and chipped mugs of diner coffee—asked about your favorite music, your family, whether you had a boyfriend “waitin’ around somewhere.” He framed it as harmless banter, chuckling over his fries, talking with his mouth half full like it wasn’t meant to mean anything.
You mostly nodded, gave short answers. Your appetite had all but vanished the longer his eyes lingered on you.
They didn’t wander constantly, Joel wasn’t that obvious. But every so often, as you cut into your food or brushed hair out of your face, you’d catch him watching you instead of eating. His gaze would always drop quickly, back to his plate or the tabletop, but the silence between those glances felt thicker each time.
You told yourself it was nothing. You told yourself you were tired, overthinking.
But by the time he paid the bill and motioned for you to follow him outside, your stomach had twisted into something tight and uneasy.
The air had cooled a little with the setting sun. Crickets had started their nightly hum, and the truck lot buzzed quietly with the sound of engines cooling and the occasional burst of laughter from inside the diner. But your ears were filled with the sound of your own footsteps following Joel’s.
He led you past the edge of the lot, toward a squat, single-story row of motel rooms behind the diner. Faded numbers were bolted onto each door, and the porch lights above them flickered weakly, as if unsure whether to bother staying lit.
Joel stopped in front of one, jingling a key in his hand. “Only had one left,” he said, turning the knob. “Told the guy it’s just for a few hours’ shut-eye. Not like I’m settlin’ in.”
Your heart skipped. Just one?
The room door creaked open. Joel stepped inside first, tossing the key on the nightstand and flipping on the light. A yellow glow filled the room, bouncing off stained wallpaper and a twin bed with a faded comforter. The A/C unit in the window rattled weakly.
The moment you stepped into the room, something felt different.
Not in the air itself, the motel room still smelled like bleach and dust, but Joel’s presence had changed.
He didn’t say much after unlocking the door. Just let it swing open, stepped inside like he owned the place, and gave the room a lazy once-over. Gone was the exaggerated sighing, the talk of loneliness, the half-hearted chuckles meant to make you feel bad for him. Now he moved slower, more comfortably, like someone who’d settled into something.
You weren’t sure what.
He let the door close behind you with a click that made your pulse hitch. He didn’t bolt it, he didn’t need to. The message was already clear.
Joel walked over to the table near the bed and dropped the room key with a soft clink. His hand hovered for a second, then he sat in the chair near the window, stretching out with a tired grunt. One arm slung over the backrest like he was getting ready to stay awhile.
“Not bad,” he muttered, adjusting the waistband of his jeans before running a hand through his graying hair. “Could be worse.”
You didn’t answer. You were still standing near the door, backpack hugged to your chest like a shield.
Joel’s eyes flicked up to you. Slower now. Less polite. Like he didn’t feel the need to pretend anymore.
"You can sit, y’know,” he said. “Ain’t gonna bite.”
He grinned at his own joke, but it didn’t reach his eyes. They were darker now. Not cold, just… sure. Like whatever this was, it was already decided in his head.
You moved slowly, choosing the edge of the bed farthest from him—you wished the separate beds calmed your nerves, they didn't. The springs creaked as you sat, and the sound felt too loud. You kept your backpack in your lap, your hands gripping the strap.
Joel let his gaze linger for a moment longer, then leaned his head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Y’know, most folks would be grateful by now,” he said idly, like he was commenting on the weather. “Free ride, free food, place to rest. Ain’t a bad deal.”
Your spine stiffened slightly. There was no edge in his voice, no threat. But there was something underneath it. Something that made your stomach coil.
“I am grateful,” you said carefully.
“Mm.” He didn’t sound entirely convinced. “You’re just real quiet is all. Hard to read.”
You didn’t reply.
Joel scratched at his jaw. “Guess it’s just been a while since I had company.” He looked at you again, head tilted, lips just barely curved. “It’s nice. Real nice. You're nice.”
You felt your shoulders tense. He wasn’t doing anything, not really, but you could feel it building. The shift. The subtle way he took up more space now, like just getting you through that door had changed everything.
Joel stood up, stretching again with a low groan, and walked toward the mini fridge. He bent to open it, empty, but lingered there a second longer than needed. When he straightened, he looked at you again. Still that same expression. Casual. Relaxed. Like this was just the natural next step in whatever he thought was happening here.
“I’m gonna go grab us some drinks,” he said, voice lighter now, maybe even cheerful. “You want soda, water, somethin’ stronger?”
You blinked. “Coke’s fine.”
He nodded, already halfway to the door. He paused, hand on the knob, then turned back.
“You lock that behind me if it makes you feel better,” he said, his voice quiet. “But I’ll be back in five. Don’t go disappearin’ on me.”
He winked. Not playful. Not mean. Just… like a joke he thought you were in on, even if you didn’t know the punchline yet.
Then the door clicked shut behind him, and you were alone.
The silence returned.
You sat still, backpack clutched to your chest, heart pounding a little faster than before. You weren’t sure what Joel thought this was. But for the first time, you were sure of one thing:
He thought he was owed something.
You weren’t sure why you stayed.
Maybe it was pride. Maybe it was the weight of your backpack digging into your spine for hours that made you too tired to run again. Maybe it was something worse, something harder to admit. That small, scared voice that told you: This is what you asked for, isn’t it? A ride. A room. A way out.
You told yourself it was fine.
But when Joel came back a few agonizing minutes later, holding a single room-temperature soda like it was some kind of gift, that thin illusion started to crack.
"Vending machine’s shot to hell," he said, tossing it onto the end of the bed like he expected you to jump at it. “Still good, though. S'just warm.”
You nodded, reaching to take a grab the bottle. You tried not to acknowledge the way your heart sped up as you leaned closer to him, your hand shaking.
Joel didn’t seem to notice, or didn’t care. He kicked off his boots, grunted as he lowered himself into the creaking chair near the TV, and grabbed the remote from the armrest.
The television flashed on, its speakers crackling as static fizzled into some old cable rerun. The volume was too loud for the tiny room, but Joel didn’t adjust it. He just leaned back and settled in, letting the laugh track fill the silence like white noise drowning out your thoughts.
You nerves were so shot, you hadn’t noticed the bottle hadn't hissed when you twisted the cap.
When your leg started to shake it was just a tremor at first, barely noticeable. But it spread, up your thigh, into your stomach, into your chest. Your heart fluttered under your ribs, fluttered wrong. Your throat was too dry. The lights were too yellow. The TV too loud. His breathing, even and steady from across the room, was the only rhythm that didn't match your panic.
You stood quickly, too quickly.
“Bathroom,” you muttered, grabbing your bag without really knowing why. Just needing it close.
Joel gave a vague nod, his eyes barely lifting from the screen. “Take your time.”
The bathroom was even smaller than you expected. Dim light. Cracked tile. A fan in the ceiling that buzzed faintly behind the walls. You closed the door and leaned against it, gripping the edge of the sink with both hands.
Your reflection stared back at you, paler than before. Eyes wide. Lips dry.
You didn’t even notice you were crying until the first drop hit the sink.
You weren’t scared, not exactly. But something inside you was twisting tight, something old and instinctive that didn’t care about politeness or gratitude or second chances. Something that whispered, Leave. Now.
You splashed water on your face. Once. Twice. The cold shocked your nerves, grounding you just a little, enough to breathe. But your hand trembled as you reached for the towel, and you had to brace yourself before you looked in the mirror again.
You stared at your own eyes for a long time.
You could still leave. You hadn’t unpacked. Your legs worked fine. The door wasn’t locked.
But outside that door, Joel waited. Not a stranger anymore. Not really. And that was somehow worse.
You dried your face, turned off the faucet, and in front the door of the bathroom for a beat, staring at the crack under it, the yellow-lit room shared the space of flickering blue light from the TV.
“You alright in there, sweetheart?” he asked, his voice warm again, sounding gentle despite how he'd had to hollar over the TV.
You took a breath. Then another. You told yourself you were overreacting.
People were weird, sure. Joel was… weird. But maybe that’s all it was. Maybe your nerves were shot from being on the road, from standing in the sun for hours, from not eating enough. You were tired. That made everything feel worse.
One night. Get some rest. Ditch him in the morning.
That was the plan. Simple. Safe.
You pushed open the door and stepped out into the dim light of the room again, trying to slide your expression back into something neutral. Something nice.
You gave him a polite, too-sweet smile in return, it was automatic, from that church-girl buried deep in your gut. You didn't owe him anything, but you still felt like you had to at least perform gratitude. Like that was part of the deal.
It was tight-lipped, polite, instinctual. The same smile you’d been trained to give since you were a kid, the smile that didnt reach your eyes, that said I’m fine, thank you, don’t worry about me.
He smiled back.
Not kindly. Not broadly. Just this thin, smug little thing tugging at the corner of his mouth.
He tried to play it off like nothing. Reached for the remote. Adjusted his posture. But it didn’t go unnoticed, not by you. Joel looked over at you from the chair, his arms resting behind his head now, relaxed.
You crossed the room, easing yourself onto the top of the bed. The blanket was old and dusty and reeked of stale detergent. Still, it beat the side of the highway. You opened the Coke and took a sip. Flat. Warm. Still, it gave your hands something to do.
On the TV, that same crusty sitcom was still going. Joel had turned the volume up since you'd gone. The laugh track punched through the tiny speakers like a drill to the temple. The jokes came rapid-fire—loud, overacted, dated.
You weren’t really listening until one of the characters—a middle-aged man with a gut and a mustache—joked about slipping a woman something to make her “act with less prudence.” The studio audience howled. His female co-star gave him a fake slap on the shoulder with an annoyed glare. The scene moved on.
You didn’t laugh. You didn’t even smile.
Joel did.
Not loud. Just a low huff of a chuckle, amused. Right in time with the laugh track. Like it had hit a nerve in him. The wrong nerve.
You stiffened. Your spine straightened just a little more. You didn’t look at him.
It was the type of joke that made men laugh in bars when they’d already had too much and weren’t watching their tone anymore.
Joel’s laughter stopped as quickly as it came. But when you risked a glance, you saw it, that same smug curl at the edge of his mouth, his tongue poking briefly at the inside of his cheek like he was chewing on something he wasn’t going to say out loud.
You looked away.
It’s the show, you told yourself. It’s the show. He’s just laughing because it’s on.
But the hairs on your arms were standing up anyway.
You shifted around on the stiff mattress for what must’ve been the better part of an hour. The bed creaked with every movement, the scratchy comforter brushing against your skin like old sandpaper. You kept changing positions—legs folded under you, then stretched out, then pulled back in. Nothing felt comfortable. Nothing felt settled.
You kept reaching for the bottle of Coke on the side table, fingers brushing it absentmindedly before pulling back. The ritual repeated over and over until finally, you just brought it into your lap. The half-full bottle had lost what little fizz it had, but you held onto it anyway. The weight of it in your hands was something solid, something to focus on. It gave your fingers something to do besides twist the hem of your shirt or pick at your skin.
Joel hadn’t said much. The flicker of the TV lit up his face in little bursts. Every so often, he’d glance over at you. Not long enough to say anything. Just enough to make your body flare up with heat as your blood rushed.
You tried to focus on the show, but your brain had gone fuzzy. Not foggy, exactly, but distant. Like your thoughts were moving through syrup. Your limbs felt a little heavy, your eyes dry.
The Coke sat in your lap like a small weight. When you went to take another sip, you hesitated, your hand lifting slower than you expected. The bottle felt heavier than before. Not by much. Just enough for you to notice.
You frowned a little, blinked once, then twice. Maybe it was exhaustion. Your nerves had been running hot all day, your body could just be crashing. That had to be it.
Still… something felt off. You gripped the bottle a little tighter.
Your head rolled slightly on your shoulders as you tried to blink the haze away. You gave a small shake, like maybe you could rattle the exhaustion out of your skull, but it clung to you—draped heavy over your limbs like a damp blanket.
You weren’t that tired.
At least, you hadn’t been.
You blinked again. The TV was still flickering, the show’s punchlines rolling out like clockwork. Joel chuckled along with the laugh track, low and content. Like nothing was wrong. Like everything was exactly the way he wanted it.
You didn’t look at him. You just focused on the bottle in your hands.
It wasn’t spinning, but it felt like it could be. Your fingers curled a little tighter around it as if that might tether you to the present. You told yourself again that you hadn’t eaten properly. That this was just your body protesting the long day. That the motel room was warm, and Joel’s TV was loud, and your senses were frayed.
But still… your skin was buzzing. Not panic, just static. An edge.
You reached for your phone without thinking, fingertips fumbling slightly with the zipper of your bag. You didn’t even know who you’d text if you needed help, but the need to do something was rising in your chest, your instincts growing louder, like background noise you could no longer ignore.
“Feelin’ alright, sweetheart?” Joel asked suddenly, not looking at you.
You jumped slightly at his voice, your fingers freezing over your backpack. You glanced at him.
His eyes were still on the screen, but his smirk was back. Not wide, not obvious, just there. Subtle, like he was hiding something behind it and didn’t care enough to try hard.
“I’m fine,” you said automatically, your voice quieter than you meant it to be.
Joel made a little humming sound, like he didn’t quite believe you, but he didn’t press. Just leaned back further in his chair, exhaling like a man pleased with how the day turned out.
You turned your eyes to the bathroom door again.
It wasn’t far. You could go in, close the door, lock it. Just for a minute. Just to breathe.
You planted your hands on the edge of the bed and pushed yourself up. Your legs didn’t respond the way you expected.
For a split second, it felt like they weren’t even attached. Your knees nearly gave out as you stood, a sharp, disconnected jolt rushing through your lower body like the numbness you get from sitting too long in one position, but worse. There was no familiar prickle of circulation returning, no tingling promise of sensation coming back. Just absence.
And something about that absence made your chest tighten.
You reached out, grabbing the wall for balance. The Coke bottle in your hand slipped from your fingers.
Behind you, Joel’s chuckle drifted lazily through the static of the television. Not loud. Just enough to make the air feel thinner.
“You alright there?” he drawled, voice a little too casual. A little too slow.
You didn’t look at him. “Yeah. Just, stiff legs.”
Your voice sounded strange even to your own ears, it was muted, distant. You could feel his eyes on your back now, tracking your movement more attentively than before.
You didn’t turn.
Didn’t say anything else.
You pressed your hands against the rough motel wall, the chipped paint cool against your skin. Your legs felt weak beneath you, shaking softly, and you couldn’t seem to make them move.
Your breath came fast and shallow, chest tightening with each inhale. The vintage chair creaked faintly nearby, a reminder that Joel was still in the room, still watching.
You didn’t look over.
Your eyes darted to the flickering TV, its pale light casting long shadows on the cracked wallpaper. It buzzed softly, filling the silence with pointless noise.
Maybe not so pointless.
You could hear him settle out of his chair, the scrape of fabric on denim. Joel’s footsteps shuffled behind you, slow and deliberate.
“Everything alright, sweetheart?” His voice was low, smooth, and far too casual. Almost mocking. It didn't sound like a question.
You didn’t answer. You couldn’t.
Instead, you pressed your palm harder against the wall, willing the tremors in your legs to stop. But the more you willed it, the worse it felt, like your body was betraying you, leaving you trapped between fight or flight, but doing neither.
You swallowed the lump rising in your throat, biting your lip to keep from shaking or crying. Your heart hammered so loud you were sure he could hear it.
You wanted to run. To scream. To disappear.
But you stayed still.
You didn’t realize he was approaching again until the floor creaked just to your left. A soft sound, but close. Too close.
“Hey, c’mon now,” Joel said, voice gentle in a way that made your stomach twist. “You don’t look too good. Maybe you should lie back down.”
His hand reached out, palm warm and rough as it hovered near your arm. Not yet. The faux tenderness in his tone didn’t sit right with the look in his eyes. They were too alert, too interested.
“I’m fine,” you said quickly, though your voice was hoarse and small. You hated how it sounded.
“You sure? ‘Cause you’re swayin’ a little.” His hand landed on your arm this time, solid and steady. But he didn’t grip.
That should have made it better. It didn’t.
It was the stillness in his hand that made your skin crawl, how his thumb pressed, then circled slowly, like he was mapping out your pulse.
“C’mon,” he said again, guiding you gently, not forcing, but not offering space to resist. “Just for a minute. You’ll feel better when ya do.”
When... not if.
You let yourself be led. Partly because your legs still felt unsteady. Partly because you didn’t know what would happen if you pulled away.
He walked you the few steps to the bed, hand never leaving your arm, and helped you sit. His other hand reached for your shoulder, too familiar now, the way it rested there a beat too long.
You flinched.
Joel paused, then gave a soft chuckle under his breath. “Easy now. Ain’t tryin’ to scare you."
But when he leaned in to adjust the pillow behind you, his knuckles dragged against your collarbone. His other hand hovered lower on your side, not quite touching your hip—but close enough that the heat of it made you recoil inside.
“You’re all tense,” he murmured, gaze slipping down your frame like a slow leak. “Just breathe, alright? You’re safe.”
The worst part was how convincing his voice sounded.
But you knew better.
Your body knew better.
You sank down against the bed with a strange sort of heaviness, like your own limbs no longer belonged to you. The mattress dipped beneath your weight, a dry, musty scent rising up from the sheets.
You tried to sit upright, to keep your spine straight, but your body leaned without permission, your muscles slackened under the weight of your own breath.
Joel didn’t go back to the chair.
You heard the soft groan of the mattress again, felt the subtle shift beside you before your eyes caught up. He sat on the edge of the bed now. Right next to you.
Not touching, but close.
You turned your head toward him slowly, eyes trying to focus. Your brain felt like it was wrapped in cotton, every thought dragging through molasses.
“Why…” you started, but the rest of the sentence didn’t come.
Your tongue felt thick. Heavy. Wrong.
He smiled, small, faint. You might've miss it if you weren’t looking. But you were looking. Because watching him felt like the only thing tethering you now.
“You okay, sugar?” he asked again, quieter this time. Closer. He didn’t sound worried. Not really.
You tried to speak, but your words came out slurred, barely above a whisper. “M’fine…”
It took all your strength just to swallow the lump in your throat, even that felt like work. You could feel your pulse behind your eyes now, slow and sluggish.
Joel didn’t move away.
His arm rested across his lap, hand curled on his thigh. The same hand that had guided you here. The same hand that lingered too long.
His eyes weren’t on your face anymore.
You saw that.
You felt that.
Still, you couldn’t quite pull your body back. Couldn’t seem to make your limbs respond.
You were here. And so was he.
And something deep in your gut told you the space between you wouldn’t stay empty much longer.
Joel's calloused hands reached toward the strap of your bra that had peaked out from your shirt. He lifted it in his fingers almost carefully, letting it lead up to the top of your bra. Your mumbled incoherently at his touch. He shushed you softly.
He didn't speak anymore, he didnt need too. He brought his fingers back up to your collarbone before laying his palm across it, the strap caught between his fingers as he pushed it down your shoulder. His body leaned forward to press his lips to your collarbone. His beard was scruffy and sharp against your soft skin, like needles.
His lips were dry and cracked, the wetness from his saliva being the only softness. He pecked at the bone a few times before his mouth wrapped around it, sucking.
Your hands weakly moved to his shoulders, but his hands patiently wrapped around your wrists, pushing them to sit by your head. The bed dented down. Your writhed weakly. He continued sucking and nipping at the spot till a dark mark appeared.
The knot in your stomach churned as he licked over where he bit to soothe your skin, his beard felt like a hundred tiny needles digging into you. Red appeared around the purple. His thumbs pressed into your wrists, feeling your pulse as you whimpered. His mouth lifted for a moment, his breath hot on your irritated skin.
"Your hearts finally slowin' down sweetheart, ain't losin' ya am I?" He huffed with a humor only he had. His mouth wrapped around the mark again, his tounge tracing your collarbone as he hummed.
He hadn’t lied, your heart finally slowed, but the panic stayed lodged in your chest. Each beat hammered against your ribs, like it was trying to tear its way out and leave you behind. The thump in your chest spread your blood throughout your body, heat rising on your skin.
His hands weren’t tight on your wrists, his thumbs traced slow circles on your pulsepoints before sliding into your palms. His mouth kept defacing your shoulder. There was no violence in it, if anything, he almost seemed to be comforting you.
You couldn’t decide if that made it better, or worse, or if it changed anything at all.
Your knees dragged upward in another weak attempt to slip free, but your bones felt like wet cement, heavy and useless. You turned your head away with a thin whine, your body mustering what little control it had to spill tears that slid into your ears. Your chest heaved as you writhed.
Joel shushed you without cruelty, his hum low and pitying, the vibration running from his throat into your collarbone. His mouth scattered pecks over the marks fresh on your neck and shoulders before he propped himself on an elbow, still looming above you. One calloused hand smeared the tears across your right cheek while his lips caught the ones on the left—and you swore his tongue slipped out to taste the salt straight from your skin.
“Don’t cry, sugarpie… I ain’t gonna hurt you, promise. Didn’t mean to upset you none. I just get real lonely out on the road, is all.”
He looked and sounded so genuine, like he truly believed every word he spoke. His lips brushed your ear when he talked, his voice almost swallowed by the blare of the TV—and now you understood why it was so loud. Not that it mattered. The only sounds you could make were thin, mousey whines, easy to mistake for the creaks of the old bedframe or an actual mouse.
Your lips trembled as you turned your face from his hands, eyelids pressed tight. The only refuge you had was to pretend, if only for a moment, that none of this was real.
“Hey now… look at me. Let me see those pretty eyes, baby.” His voice stayed soft, but there was an edge of annoyance beneath it.
When you didn’t obey, his hand closed around your face, squeezing your cheeks until your lips puckered. He tilted your head toward him, but your eyes stayed shut. He clicked his tongue, then used his other hand to peel one eyelid open. Your iris was barely a ring around your blown pupil, whatever he’d given you was already winding through your blood, sinking heavy into your bones.
He smiled softly. “There she is…” he whispered, letting your eyelid flutter shut as his hand slipped into your hair, fingers combing slow like he meant to soothe. “Pretty, pretty girl.”
His lips met your forced pout in a mockery of a kiss, his tongue brushing gently against them, coaxing for a response you never gave. When you didn't reciprocate, he nipped at your lips gently.
He pulled back just enough to watch your face, your eyes still screwed shut, leaving you with nothing but the ghost of his touch. His hand hovered at your shoulder, and he grinned at the weak tremors rippling through your body. Slowly, he let his fingertips trail down to your hip, slipping beneath the hem of your shorts to trace the waistband, his blunt nail dragging a cruel line across your pelvis.
"It's okay, hun." He whispered as he slipped another finger into the waistband.
You felt his hand turn in your shorts, the pads of his fingers now touching you. You tensed but made no move to resist, not that you could. His hand slowly, painstakingly, moved deeper into your shorts. You quietly cried as his middle and pointer finger dragged across your clothed clit before it was quickly replaced by his palm, fingers down to your slit. Your heard a gravelly groan reach out of his throat.
"Fuck sweetie, you're soaking through your panties." He chuckled near the end of his words before exhaling heavily.
Your eyes wanted to shoot open, but only managed to lift with a furrowed brow. His eyes met yours, his bottom lip between his stained teeth. Confusion was painted on your features.
"Yeah baby, you're panties are fucking ruined." He huffed, his palm pressing onto your swollen clit.
A humiliating gasp was ripped from you as more tears fell from your eyes. No, no no no...
"Mhm, shit baby, see? Your body knows I'm not hurting ya, what was all that fuss about?"
The pads of his fingers brushed over your clothes slit, the wetness became more obvious as you heard a sickening squelch when he pressed them into your sopping hole over your panties.
"Ah... Joel.." you cried, your voice never felt smaller.
His hot breath fanned your face with a pant, "Yeah, baby, say my name."
You shook your head weakly, your eyes traveling down to where his hand disappeared into your shorts. You remembered you had hands as you tried to push his hand away. In your haze, you accidently pushed him closer, letting his palm rub harder into your clit.
You wanted to puke when your felt a shot of pleasure crack through you, you wanted to die when you felt your hips roll into his hand. Your voice cracked with a wordless 'No'.
Joel beamed, "You got such a needy pussy, baby... look at her, she wants so bad. She knows whats best for you... she just wanna feel good."
You grit your teeth as your hips rolled again, his hand meeting it with a circle of his own. Your nails dug into his forearm, but they barely made an indent. You felt his leg cross over yours as he hummed your thigh. His cock was hard in his jeans, the bulge large and visable despite your brain fog and the dark room.
His hand left your shorts for a moment, and you felt a wave of relief before you felt them fall straight to the button on them.
He unbuttoned them with one hand as he groaned, lifting himself to his knees. He grabbed at the waistband at both your hip bones and tore them down. You tried to cross your legs but one of his hands met your thigh and shoved it to the side, just long enough to get your shorts off.
He brought both hands to the back of your knees, dragging you down for his thighs to meet the back of yours. He spread you open and stared down like he was holding his fridge open, deciding what he wanted to feast on. He barely felt the tug of you trying to close them. In a last ditch effort you moved your hands to cover your crotch, and that's when you felt it.
You were completely soaked through, the wet spot making your white panties transparent. It was like something inside you broke at that moment. Your body had decided to completely betray you.
As if he noticed you resolve falter, he brought his hands to the side of your panties and ripped. One side, then the other. Throwing them across the room to land somewhere on the carpet. You bit into your hands as you stopped pulling away. Eyes distant but open, he would take it.
His hands lifted your shirt over your bra before he shoved that up too. It squeezed over the top of your breasts almost painfully.
"God bless you, baby... perfect fucking pussy," his hand slapped it as he leaned forward, "and perfect fucking tits."
His mouth wrapped around your nipple, tounge circling it wildly as he sucked the nub between his teeth. Your body reacted how it wanted, and you could only whimper and whine pathetically. He rested above you on one forearm while his other hand met your leaking slit again. His thick middle finger dragged up and down it, your wetness coating the pad. He brought it to you clit, circling slowly before he flicked it.
He moaned around you nipple when you jumped with a cry. The more your body reacted the more he seemed to lose it. He switched to the other nipple, "Gotta give her some lovin' too." He chuckled.
The actions repeated for a few minutes you think, your perception of time got foggy with each circle, flick, and switch.
The vibration from his groans tickled your breast, making your back arch further into his mouth. He was almost fucking drooling, copious amounts of spit shined your chest like you'd been rubbed down in oil.
He abruptly moved down, his hand leaving to grip your hips, holding them down as he settled between your legs. He licked a long stripe across your slit, shaking his head side to side as the muscle circled your clit before he sunk it into your organ. His hands moved to your chest as he tounge fucked you, fast and unrelenting. He only lifted from you to spit on you pussy before he flattened his tounge across your entire slit and diving back in.
Every groan and moan from his vibrated against your clit and the inside of you. You felt breathless and violated. And when a knot formed in your stomach that you couldn't decipher at first due to the sinking dread that had settled there, it was too late.
With a broken cry, you threw your head back as your legs shook around his head. His voice raised over the tv for a moment with how loud he growled against your pussy.
He detached from you before appearing in front of your eyes and shoving his hot tounge down your throat. You grimaced as you tasted yourself, your pussy still throbbing from your orgasm.
"Sweet as cherry pie, baby." He mumbled against your mouth. His tounge dragged along the inside of your mouth, just another hole to him. Along the ridges of the roof of your mouth to the back of your teeth.
He sucked on your tounge harshly before unlatching, raising back on his knees again with a hushed 'Fuck...' undoing his belt. The clink of metal echoed, as he stood. He didn't bother taking his jeans off, just shoved them down enough to release his raging cock.
He walked to the side of the bed, grabbing your arm and dragging you closer. His dick hung heavy as it twitched, face level with you. You closed your mouth tightly and turned your head, only to met with a gentle but forceful tap from the back of his hand. The same hand grabbed your jaw as he leaned down to meet your eyes.
"I'm only gonna say this once, you don't fucking bite. I don't wanna hurt you, sugar, but you bite my fucking dick and I'll knock your teeth out." He said it sternly with raised brows.
You only looked at him fearfully before he spoke again, "Do you understand?" You nodded.
He loosened his grip and brought his thumbs to the sides of your mouth, forcing it open. "Relax your throat, sweetheart. Be good for me, m'kay?"
What else could you do other then what you were told?
The tip leaked as he dragged it across your lips before he got an idea, backing up and manhandling you to lay with your head upside down on the edge. He returned to your lips, a couple heavy slaps of his cock landed on your cheek before he told you to stick your tounge out, and he slid into your warm waiting mouth.
He groaned as he moved till his balls touched your nose, stilling there for a moment as you suffocated. You whimpered around him as you brought your hands up, "Breath through your nose, sweetheart." He instructed.
He pulled out leaving just the tip in your mouth before he slowly bottomed out again. He didnt waste time changing the pace, his hips thrusted steadily. Drool dripped from your mouth as he fucked it, his heavy, twitching balls smacking your nose each time. He brought his hands to take your wrists, settling them on your stomach as he leaned forward so he could thrust harder. He panted and groaned, cursing occasionally inbetween.
One of his hands left your wrist to smack your pussy once before he lifted himself. Bringing one knee to the mattress, he stood as he thrusted downward into your throat. His hand enveloped it with a growl when he saw the shift inside of it. His eyes were locked on the bulge that appeared in your throat when he shoved it down.
His thrusts became sloppy as he got louder. He lean forward again, fully pounding your throat before hot seed filled it. You felt it hit your uvula in bursts, forcing you to cough and gag, your body desperately trying to suck in air through your filled neck. He stilled at the deepest point, his tip twitching to hit the back of your throat as you felt his balls tighten against your nose. He exhaled roughly before giving you one more slowly thrust, pulling out.
You gasped desperately, veins bulging in your face and neck. Your eyes were pink and your head was swimming due to it hanging upside down for so long. Spit and snot leaked down from your face along with his cum.
Kneeling next to you, he nuzzled your head with his own with soft shushing. "That's it, breath, honey... You did so good, took it so good. Made me feel so good, baby..." he muttered, kisses moving across your temple.
When your coughing subsided you breathed a sigh of relief that it was over, mumbling incoherently as your brain struggled to process. The fog lifted when you felt his hands around your ankles from the other side of the bed, dragging you to lay on it again. He crawled to join you before twisting you back around so your head was at the pillows.
Cries came more freely now as you saw his still hard cock scoot closer to your pussy. You head turned before narrowing in on a sheet of tablets sitting on the side table he'd been sitting at. Two blue pills missing.
Your throat burned as a weak cry tried to crawl out, but he'd abused it to the point of you loosing your voice. Pathetic squeaks falling from your mouth instead. You felt his cock slap against your pussy, it instinctively pulsed at the pressure. He pressed the tip to your clit, thrusting against it. Your back arched as your hips rolled with his, your brain was so fuzzy you didnt even register the noises spilling from your lips.
The stretch was sudden as he pushed into you. Your lips trembled around him as he slid inside easily. Your spit and already soaked his cock immeasurably, but the lube that leaked from you without permission added to it ease of which he came inside you without friction. You felt impossibly full when his hand came down to push on your lower stomach as he began working.
There was no build up, the speed was set from the jump as he hauled himself over you. His hips met yours with heavy thrusts, pounding into you without thought. The only time he let you breath was when he kneeled again, only to grab the back of your knees and shove them next to you head as he somehow fucked you harder. He felt no need to speak anymore, only occasion growls of how wet you were, which you hadn't needed verbal acknowledgement of. It was clear from the wet slaps that echoed in the room, bouncing off the walls and into your ears as you laid limp and took it.
Your mouth hung open as noises continued to force themselves from your throat, you had been so gone that you didnt flinch when you spit into your mouth, your throat instantly tensing as you swallowed it. You had lost almost all feeling, your hearing muffled, you took no notice of the impending release.
"Fucking shit baby... pussys so fucking tight 'round me... you gonna cum again? Hmm? You love this fucking cock, you know you do. You're body knows you do."
It went in one ear and out the other, you were reduced to a whimpering hole.
You didnt react when he pulled out to flip you onto your stomach, shoving one knee hip while the other stayed straight. He laid atop your seemingly lifeless body as he shoved himself back in and quickly resumed his previous pace. The cupped smacking sound reverberated with his pounding, your voice now muffled by the pillows you faced.
You felt his weight as his chest met your back and he rutted into you. Your fingers twitched with a mix of exhaustion, pleasure, and anxiety. He swiped your hair from your shoulder as he sucked another mark onto you from behind. Your voice raised a pitch as he thrusts began sloppy again.
"You're gonna make me cum again, honey... fuck yeah that's it, you can take it, knew you could." You whimpered as he lifted your hips, shoving you onto him just as harshly as he was fucking you. But you tightend around him all the same.
"Come on, cum with me, baby! Want your pussy to clamp down and suck my cum right out of my cock... milk me fucking dry, baby... lemme fill up that sexy fucking pussy!"
A scream was at the back of your throat as your body jumped like you were electrocuted. It came out as a broken cry as you shook violently. He didn't stop even after your orgasm run its course, only fucked you faster. Your hips pulled away as you mindlessly scrambled away from his unrelenting ones, but you were still under the influence of his roofie, and he was still so much stronger.
And so for another agonizing few minutes you shook and writhed and cried till he bottomed out. Cumming deep inside your abused cunt. You felt the warmth fill you as his tip hit your cervix, it spread quickly down to your opening where it leaked down onto the bed. He let himself to thrust a handful more times as he drained his balls inside of you.
And then he stayed there, his hand lifting your hips to keep it from leaking out. But there was so much, it filled your entire cunt. You felt his hands reached and pinch your slit closed around his cock. His mouth came to your ear as he whispered.
"Gotta make it stick... make sure you get nice and full."
You have nothing left in you to protest, only tears slipping by. You're so fucking dirty, cum and spit and snot and tears and sweat. The blanket your sprawled on feels like got left out in the rain.
You feel his cock soften inside you of before he pulls out. Two fingers immediately replace it, stuffing the little that leaks out back into your brushed pussy. You begin to lose your senses, your body unable to force itself to fight awake anymore.
You only feel the repeated drag of his fingers, a clicking sound like a camrea accompanied by a flash of light, and his breathless heaving. The bed shakes as he falls next to you before you feel his arm loosely wrap around you waist, pulling you into him. You eyes droop as you gave in. A lump forms in your throat when you feel a twitch against your ass as you slowly loose consciousness.
Pairings: dbf! joel miller x dbf! jack abbot x reader
Summary: You graduated college and were home for the summer. After a late night conversation in your dad’s backyard, his best friends show you why guys your age are nothing compared to older men.
Warning: 18+ (MDNI), Heavy makeout, p in v, threesome, unprotected sex, cringe dad jokes(unfortunately),dad's best friend trope, perverted thoughts, angst, free use, breeding, dub-con (MILD), READER IS IN 20S, JOEL AND JACK ARE IN 50S, dub con, oral (m & f receiving), double blowjobs, tongue fucking masturbation, double penetration, double vaginal penetration, semi-public sex, creampies, vaginal stretching(mild), spitplay, overstimulation, use of pet names (bunny).
Author's Note: I hope you enjoy this! I just wanted to add a disclaimer that my blogs do not reflect how JOEL MILLER AND JACK ABBOT act in their series and game. Please bear with me when it comes to Jack, I do not know much about him. I haven’t watched Pitt yet but he's so dbf coded so I had to write about him. I'm so sorry if this story isn't good enough, I am starting to feel burnt out.
Word Count: 8.0k
part two/ masterlist
After graduating college, you headed back to your home town for the summer. You wanted to pay your dad a visit before starting your psychology internship in Seattle.
The stay at his house was fine but tension was rising in the house when two of his dad’s best friends came to your dad’s house on a daily basis. Joel and Jack knew your dad since they were in grade school, they practically grew up together. You didn’t know much about them because you didn’t live with your dad until you were 17 years old. And at 18, you stayed at the house only for a few months before heading out of state for college.
The only thing you truly learned about his friends was that Joel was a contractor and carpenter while Jack was an attending physician at an emergency department. You didn’t really understand their bond due to their differences but you didn't really question it.
As the weeks went by, you gradually started engaging in conversations with them. Jack loved holding deeper conversations even though he would run jokes with you every now and then . On the other hand, Joel was a man of few words, he talked to you but not enough to open up easily as Jack.
You started to develop feelings for the both of them and enjoyed their company more. The attraction made you curse at yourself more often. At college, you weren't used to seeing gruff men like them, especially due to the fact that you lived in the city areas where finance majors and fraternity boys seemed to exist on every corner.
Jack and Joel looked like men who spent their life working with their hands. They were towering in height and shielded in muscles that couldn't be replicated by going to the gym. They carried themselves with a commanding but calm presence that made you gravitate towards them.
You felt so wrong for finding these grown men attractive. They were your dad’s best friends and old enough to be your father so that made them completely off limits. But they were such a rare type of handsome that you couldn't stop your eyes from stealing stares at them.
Jack’s features were so soft but expressive while Joel’s were dark but captivating. The one thing you noticed about them the most was their gray hairs. Jack’s hair and beard was entirely covered in a mixture of dark and light silvers while Joel’s brunette curls were peppered in grey, same with his trimmed beard.
Whenever they came over to watch football with your dad, you found every excuse in the books to stay down stairs to do unnecessary chores or search for something that didn't need to be found. Your gaze would linger on them from across the room to get a better look.
On nights they came over for dinner, you spent extra time on your appearance, wearing your smallest tights or even allowing the lace of your bra to show under your loose shirts.
Eventually, you found yourself wondering if they were seeing anyone.
It was now late June and your dad decided it was the perfect weather to host a small barbeque with some neighbors. The UV’s were very high so you chose to tan by the pool before all the neighbors got to the house.
After about an hour of sitting by the pool, familiar faces crowded in the extended backyard as the young kids chased each other around the yard and had fun in the pool. You played with the kids in the pool to make sure they were being safe because their parents were too occupied with chatting on the patio.
For most of the day, your dad was on the grill cooking every single meat that could be eaten or conversing and running jokes with Joel and Jack. While you swam in the pool, you found yourself noticing men more than you intended to.
Every time your eyes flickered toward the patio, one of them seemed to be looking back. Jack would smile and lift his beer in acknowledgment while Joel would swiftly look away, taking another sip. As the evening went on, it became impossible to ignore their gazes on you and somehow that made your stomach flutter.
The sun began to set so the barbecue slowly died down. The younger children were called inside while the adults remained gathered around the patio with beers and plates of food.
After you made sure all the kids were inside the house, watching an old cartoon, you decided to head back outside to where Joel and Jack sat to get yourself a nice cold drink.
Your dad was still inside, grabbing more meat for the grill so you took his empty seat between his two best friends. With a dramatic sigh, you plopped down into the lawn chair as you started drying your chlorine-soaked hair with your towel.
“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” Jack welcomed, shifting in his chair. Something in his expression eased when you sat between them. Joel’s eyes briefly lifted from his beer, his gaze lingering on you before he took another sip.“Joel was just talking about how good you are with the kids.”
“Really?” You laughed softly as you leaned forward to open the plastic cooler.
“That ain't what I meant,” Joel immediately grumbled under his breath before bringing his eyes to anywhere but you.
The ice had melted out, leaving a couple more beers and sodas to float in the cold water of the cooler. You hastily dug your hand into the water and took out a beer bottle.
“It’s okay to give compliments, Joel.”Jack stated in a taunting manner as he gestured to his bottle towards Joel. He uttered something under his breath, not feeding into Jack’s jokes.
After cracking open your beer bottle, you halted when Jack’s large hand wrapped around the neck of it, nearly yanking the bottle out of your hold. “Your dad knows you drink?” Jack inquired thoughtfully, bringing his delicate gaze to your face.
“Jack, I am twenty-three.” You answered back with a chuckle before jerking the bottle from his tight grip.
“She ain’t no little girl anymore.” Joel added with a snarky remark. The slick comment pushed Jack to stare at Joel with an expression that you couldn't quite read. The stare must have meant a million words to them, Joel puffed a grunt and trailed his attention to the pool.
There was an embarrassing stillness as you held the glass of the bottle up to your lips and took a little sip. In a flash, the scarcely sweet but coarse flavor danced against your taste buds before you forced yourself to swallow.
“So miss graduate, what did they teach you over at college?” Jack questioned while crossing his arms against his chest, his enormous freckled biceps flexed against the sleeves of his black shirt.
“Psychology.” You gave an answer, looking down at your open bottle.
“What made you pick that?” Jack asked as he leaned closer to you in pure curiosity. Your body was growing stiff at how close he was to you.
“I always wanted to understand why people do the things they do.” You truthfully said, the explanation bringing your mom to your mind before you could block the thought of her out. Unintentionally, your shoulders constricted as you swallowed the lump forming in your throat.
“That's great,” Jack stated before your thoughts could haul you away. “Well, can you figure us out?” He raised a humorous question with a chuckle as his eyes scanned your face. You started feeling the intensity of Joel’s gaze scorching your skin as you tucked a piece of your damp hair behind your ears.
For a second, you paused and shifted against the material of the chair. “Not completely,” You murmured at Jack’s question, still pondering on it.
“Probably for the best.” Joel interrupted while manspreading his legs further and scarcely lifting his hips in the chair.
Due to his comment, you settled on going for the kill and turning to Joel. “Joel’s probably just emotionally unavailable.” You mocked, your hungry eyes skimming against the side of his perfect face.
Jack cracked a baritone chuckle, glancing at how rigid Joel’s posture had become. “Damn sweetheart, you gave Joel no mercy.”Jack made an effort to contain his laughter as he shook his head. Eventually, Joel’s dark, captivating eyes made contact with yours as he poked his tongue against his cheek.
“Don’t need some college girl telling me what’s wrong with me.” Joel said in a bothered fashion as his rough hands skimmed against the dark grey hairs of his beard.
“Nobody said anything was wrong with you,” You corrected. “It was just a small observation.”
“Well your observation ain't true,” Joel replied, his deep southern drawl held a hint of disturbance in it.. “You can't read our minds.”
“That’s exactly what somebody with something wrong with them would say.” Jack grinned, putting fuel to the fire as he pointed his finger at Joel.
Before you could respond, your dad appeared back in sight, carrying plates of seasoned burger patties and a carton of beer. “Someone, give me a hand here.” Your dad requested, concentrating on not dropping anything on his freshly mowed grass.
Joel was already standing before your dad finished speaking, almost like he wanted no part in the conversation you were having.
“How many burgers are you making this time?” Jack questioned in amazement. “Trying to feed the whole damn county?”
“You say that every time I grill and still eat six of them.” Your dad scoffed while handing Joel the cartons of beer in his grip.
“Four.” Jack corrected in a feisty manner.
“More like seven.” Joel chimed in, holding onto the cartons then moving his attention to Jack. Jack gasped in mock offense like Joel had just cursed his whole bloodline.
“Y’all sound like a married old couple.” You interrupted, pushing your dad to proudly grin at your comeback. Joel snorted then walked towards the grill, completely departing from the conversation.
“He’s always mad at the world.” Your dad tsked then laughed.
“Don't make him have any more drinks,” Jack cautioned. “Next thing you know he's flipping over tables for no reason.
“You damn right.” Your dad laughed as he began walking over to the grill but halted and turned his attention to you. “Princess, go keep an eye on the kids inside before they break something.” Before you could respond, your dad was walking away from Jack and you.
“We can finish this conversation later,” You politely excused yourself after turning to Jack and handing him your beer.
“Go do your thing, sweetheart.”
⊱ ─── ⋅ʚ♡ɞ⋅ ─── ⊰
Your dad, Joel, and Jack had remained on the patio long after everyone else had left, talking over their beers and playing a card game. While they debated over the game, you cleaned up the paper plates and empty cups lingering on the table.
You couldn’t help but notice how much more Joel seemed to glance at you after your observation on him. Whenever you passed by the table, his eyes would shortly follow you before he returned his attention to the cards in his hand. More than once, you caught him staring only for him to glide his tongue against his bottom lip and look away.
“I'm too old for this, I'm going to bed.” My dad announced as he threw all the cards onto the wooden table.
“You just can’t take losing.” Jack replied, leaning back in his chair as he stretched. The extended movement caused the fabric of his black shirt to ride up, revealing a faint trail of grey hairs that went under the waistband on his pants.
You couldn't help but drift your eyes down to the trail of hairs as you took up the last few red cups off the table and dropped them into the garbage bag. When you looked back up, Joel was around watching you. His jaw slightly tightened as he huffed.
“You got me there, bud.” Your dad said in defeat as he arose from his seat with a pained grunt.
“Knew you would tap out.” Joel smirked.
“Watch it.” Your dad warned, pointing his cards at Joel as you all laughed. “Alright, don't stay up too late.” Your dad added while collecting his beer and the rest of the scattered cards on the table. “If you guys need to crash here tonight, feel free to.”
“I’m going to sit by the pool for alittle.” You announced as you placed the bag filled with plastic beside the leg of the table. Your dad promptly halted with a bewildered look on his face.
“By yourself?”
“Dad, I am grown.” You replied with a scoff as you started to take off your loose tanktop, revealing your black triangle bikini top. Joel and Jack’s gaze heated your skin while you also slid off your jean shorts.
“And you’re still my daughter.” My dad argued before looking between Joel and Jack. “Y’all mind keeping her company?”
“Wouldn’t mind one bit.” Jack immediately responded as he stood up from his seat faster than necessary.
“She doesn't need babysitting.” Joel sighed into his beer as his eyes trailed down your figure, sending your posture straightening under his gaze.
“It's 1 in the morning, just make sure she's safe.” Your dad pleaded with Joel as he strolled towards the sliding door of the house.
“Get your rest, we would take really good care of her.” Jack chimed in before a fuss could leaveJoel’s lips. Jack’s caring clarification was enough for your dad to make his way into the house. You scoffed and proceeded to walk off the patio and toward the pool.
When you got to the blue, glowing pool, you instantly plunged into the water. The chilly, chlorine-filled water clung against your skin as gravity pulled you down to the bottom of the pool.
Once you surfaced, your eyes immediately found Joel and Jack. They were making their way toward the extended blue sofa beside the pool, murmuring something to each other.
You swam to the edge of the pool and rested your hands against the concrete. “You guys don't want to get in?” You said, a small smirk tugging on your lips as you looked up at them sitting on the sofa. “The water's nice.”
They both denied your harmless offer so for the next couple of minutes, you continued swimming before boredom then settled in you. Jack would cheer whenever you attempted to do something silly, laughing at you when you lost balance or splashed the water too hard. On the other hand, Joel stayed quiet and watched you when you floated on the surface of the water.
Eventually, you climbed the steps of the pool, beads of water rolling down your skin and soaking the concrete under your feet. You made your way over towards Jack and Joel, wrapping your arms against your cold body. When you got to the sofa, Jack extended his arm to hand you your pastel pink towel.
“Well aren't you a pro?” Jack teased with a smile. You took the towel with a small laugh and thanked him, running the towel against your soft skin as it absorbed the water clinging to your body.
A swell of Silence crammed the air as your eyes shifted to Joel’s while you completely dried off. You motioned closer to the sofa, laying your towel on the empty cushion between the two then plopping down with a weary whine. Jack sat beside you with a beer in his hand while Joel leaned back against the cushion, his eyes fixed somewhere beyond the water of the pool.
The silence didn't last long because Jack turned to you and said,“Heard you got an internship.”
“Sure did.” You instantly smiled, proud at how far you've come as you combed your fingers through your damp hair.
“Congratulations on that.” Jack complimented in a calm deep tone, lowering his gaze to the rim of his bottle. “I am so happy for you.”
“Thank you, hard work pays off.” You muttered.
Jack nodded like he was sitting with his thoughts for a moment before loosely crossing his muscular arms against his chest.
“So Seattle, huh?” Joel finally spoke, leaning slightly forward on the sofa as his deep southern drawl hung heavy in the air. “That’s a long way from home.”
“That’s the idea.” You replied, letting out a long exhale.
“You must be so excited.” Jack heartily assumed before bringing the bottle of his beer to his full lips.
“I guess so.”You hesitated as you nervously fidgeted with the hems of your towel.
Joel looked over at you as a quiet scoff came from deep in his chest. “Guess so?”Joel echoed your response like he was personally insulted.
“I don't know,”With a defeated snort, you shrugged and leaned against the sofa’s cushion. “Everyone acts like after graduation, you’re supposed to make you feel like you’ve got your whole life figured out.”
“Even after decades, that feeling never comes,”Jack replied with a soft laugh. “Trust me on that, sweetheart.”
“You’re a doctor though,” You stated as your eyebrows creased together in puzzlement.
“And?”
“You save people.”
“Sweetheart, I don’t even know what I’m doing half the time.” Jack said, the answer burst the image you had built of him but it somewhat made you feel better about leaving for Seattle.
“Nobody does.” Joel agreed in a grunt before shifting his sitting position and resting his ankle over his knee.
There was a momentary silence before Jack’s eyes lingered on you longer than necessary, making your breath delicately hitch under his stare.
“You miss college?” Jack then raised a question. Before answering his question, you shyly broke the fierce eye contact and frowned while your shoulders lowered lightly.
“Parts of it.”
“Thought kids your age liked being away.” Joel cut in, intrigued by your response.
“Most do but I don't know.” You replied as Joel positioned his beer on the little wooden table by the sofa. “Sometimes I’d go days without really talking to anybody and if I did, I still felt like I was invisible.”
Jack tilted his head, observing as you zoned out at the reflection of the radiant pool lights. The water bubbled against the pool’s edge while y’all stared somewhere different.
“That happens more than people think.” Jack admitted before clearing his throat.
You hummed a reply.
Jack smiled to himself and shook his head. “Well, some lucky son of a bitch is gonna be pretty happy when you move.” He then said, your attention snapping to him.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” You huffed a giggle and adjusted the straps of your damp bikini top. Jack’s gaze flicked down to the twisted straps before he gestured with his beer bottle and moved a little closer to you. You could almost feel the warmth on his body beside yours.
“As pretty as you are?” He mentioned with a low whistle. “Somebody’s gotta be following you out to Seattle.”
“Thank you but no.” You replied as a sensation fluttered in the pit of your lower stomach. “I don't have a boyfriend.” Heat ran up your neck at his compliment.
A small smirk evolved on the corner of his lips and his eye temporarily pivoted over to Joel’s then back to you. “Impossible.” Joel breathed out in a tone that indicated that he didn't believe you. “You’re telling me you haven’t broken any hearts in college?”Jack teased as he nudged his shoulder against yours.
“Not really.” You responded while placing your fidgeting hands down on your bare thighs.
Jack genuinely appeared surprised, provoking you to eventually give in to his taunting.
“Well I had one boyfriend for most of college.”You groaned and playfully rolled your eyes.
“What happened?” Joel finally spoke while resting his foot back onto the ground. The question caught you off guard because it was the first personal thing he’d asked you all summer.
“It was just complicated, I wanted different things.”
“Totally understandable.” Jack chuckled, raising the half-empty beer bottle to his lips.
“What’d you want?” Joel rasped,the query sounding more personal than it intended to. “From him.”
Your mind wandered to your ex-boyfriend who you dated for four years. He only ever looked forward to going out to the college bars and having casual sex with you. He mostly kept you as a secret, only seeming affectionate when he was thrusting into you, whispering sweet nothings into your ears. Outside of having sex, you would argue with him on a weekly basis. The last stray was when he ditched you on Valentine's Day to go play pool with his friends.
“Something real,” You admitted then paused. “I guess I just want somebody who's not afraid to love me.”
Jack nodded in understanding as he skimmed the pads of his fingers against his arms.
“Hard to find at 23,” Joel muttered while playing with the rim of his beer bottle.
“Maybe that’s because I’m not looking for 23 year olds.”
“That so?” Joel challenged.
“Older men know exactly what they want.” You resumed fidgeting with your fingers as a tension evolved between the three of you. Neither of them spoke.
Jack’s attention went to Joel as the quietness felt almost unbearable. You turned to Joel, who still hadn’t moved an inch. The pool lights reflected against his sharp features, his expression completely unreadable. Jack rolled his beer bottle between his palms then clicked his tongue.
“So you've never truly been in love,sweetheart?”Jack came to a conclusion as he brushed his hands against the light grey stubble of his beard.
You giggled nervously and shook your head.
“I think if I had been, I’d know.”
“Sometimes you don’t realize it until it’s too late.” Joel delivered his input while you glanced between them.
“What about you two?”
“I was married once.”Jack eagerly answered first before Joel released a sharp exhale. “Me too.”
“Were you in love though?” You questioned.
“Of course I was.” Jack nodded with a half-smile on his lips. “Thought I was.” Joel added in a grumble. Their answers floated heavily in the air as your heart missed a beat.
“Did you both always know what you wanted?”
“Hell no.” Jack admitted while stretching against the sofa. Joel ran his fingers through his short curls, appearing to really sit on your question. “Spent most of my life working, didn't have time to really think about what I wanted.” Joel then revealed.
You let out a dramatic groan as you threw your hands up in faux defense. “It’s always about work,” You trailed off in a whine as you rolled your eyes. “Do you guys never think about settling down again and being with somebody?”
“You’re making us sound old,sweetheart.” Jack teased as brought his hands to his chest like he’d been hurt.
“You both come over to my dad’s house almost every couple of days and just sit around and watch games,”You pointed out. “I think you’re both lonely.” Your voice softened as you carried your gaze to the both of them.
“Us?” Jack asked, genuine surprise washing over his face. On the other hand, Joel stared at you as if two horns had grown on your head.
You nodded while softly dragging your bottom lip to your teeth.
“And what about you?” Joel shot back, tilting his head as he scanned your face, his expression unreadable.
“I think I am too.” You confessed, not taking your eyes of his. For a second, nobody spoke, it was so quiet that you could hear the pool being filtered and the hums of nature. Your eyes dropped to Joel’s lips for a second then back up to his face.
Before you overthought anything, you leaned forward and pressed your lips against his. A sensation in you matured as he deepened the kiss and brought his large hand to the back of your head.
Your breathing became uneven as you pulled away then desperately turned to Jack, his eyes were wide in awe. You pressed your lips against his, tasting more of the tangy flavor of the beer he was drinking. A quiet moan escaped his lips as your warmth consumed him.
He then pulled away like he'd been burned, Jack drew in a harsh breath as he stared at you wildly.
“We can’t do this.” Joel murmured while he forked his hair through his big hand. “You don't want this sweetheart, you really don't know what you are asking for.” Jack added to Joel's statement as his long fingers traced the lines of your jaw.
“Your daddy trusts us.” Joel said, his eyes darkening as he watched Jack touch your face. “For fuck sake, I got a truck older than you.”
“I know what I want.” You breathed out, your chest heaving up and down as Jack’s fingers began to explore the skin of your neck. “And it’s the both of you.”
That’s all it took for Joel to press his lips back onto yours while his calloused hand found their way to your bare thighs, sending a shiver dancing down your spine. The reality of what you just confessed settled over the three of you.
You parted your lips to give him entry and he instantly took it, sliding his warm tongue into your mouth. Both of your mouths moved at a slow, alluring pace as Jack’s lips trailed down to the flesh of your neck. His mouth leached against a sensitive area on your neck resulting in you moaning against Joel’s mouth. Jack placed his large hand onto your other thigh as he sucked hungrier.
Before you deepened the kiss with Joel, Jack delicately gripped your jaw and pulled you away from Joel’s lips. He forced you to face him then smashed his lips on yours. His technique of kissing was more passionate unlike Joel’s dominating pace. You loved both of them so it didn't really concern you.
You parted your lips again, allowing your tongues to meet. Jack moved against your lips like he was trying to savour every bit of you.
Joel’s rough hands crept to your inner thighs, his fingers playing with the hem of your bikini bottoms. A pulse spasmed between your thighs forcing you to clench it lightly. Joel’s breath fanned against the side of your face as he began tugging your bottoms to the side, the warm air making your hips unintentionally jerk. On your other thigh, Jack was tracing small circles with the pads of his thumb as he softly bit down on your lips then pulled back.
You then turned back to Joel and leaned into him, bringing your lips back onto his. Your glistening mouths moved in sync as the kiss rapidly got heated. Joel and Jack hauled their hands down to your cunt.
“You are so perfect, sweetheart.” Jack whispered into your ear before gliding his tongue against the skin of your ear lobe.
Joel carried his fingers to your pulsing bud, pushing a whimper to escape your lips. You broke the kiss to look down at both of their big hands exploring your pussy. Joel pressed his fingers against your sensitive nerves as Jack gripped your thigh and spread it apart to get a better look at your pussy. Joel followed Jack’s action before drawing his attention back to your puffy clit.
Your pussy was now entirely exposed to your dad’s best friends.
Your cunt immediately clamped down around nothing as you glanced at the both of them. Joel uttered a profanity before he decided to get on his knees, his hold on your thigh not easing up.
“Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.” Joel said, his warm breath fanning against your sensitive nerve. “Jack, come take a look at this.”
Jack didn't hesitate to lean forward and rest his hand between your stretched-open thighs. Jack took his thumb and index fingers to your drenched folds, parting them to examine your cunt. The wet sounds of your pussy echoed as Jack hummed in approval.
“Such a flawless cunt.” Jack remarked before leaning even further towards it that you could now feel both of their breaths on the sensitive bud.
Joel was the first to claim your pussy on his lips, his tongue licked from your clenched entrance all the way to your swollen clit. Your hips instantly jolted at the euphoric sensation while Jack’s finger kept your pussy lips open widely.
You moaned then leaned back against the soft cushion of the couch. When Joel dragged his tongue back down to your entrance, Jack spat right on your pussy.
The warm saliva trailed down to your clit before he suctioned his lips onto the bud without any mercy. Not being able to close your legs only caused a pathetic whimper to leave your throat..
A tangle of bliss evolved in your lower stomach as Jack’s mouth sucked harder on your clit while Joel buried his flat tongue deep inside your pussy.
“Please….”You cried out, not even knowing what you were asking for as your back arched off the cushion.
Jack switched to flicking your clit so Joel took his tongue out of your greedy cunt and joined Jack at your clit. The way they both licked your clit at different paces and positions at the same time drove your eyes to roll to the back of your head. The exotic dual feeling rose in the pit of your stomach while your thighs tensed in euphoria.
They both fought for authority, devouring your cunt like they were hungry men. You brought your hands to their hair and combed through their soft curls.
They were eating you so skillfully that you were a moaning, breathless mess.
Eventually, Joel defeated Jack over your cunt so Jack leaned away from your pussy and glanced at you. You were pouting as Joel sucked on your swollen clit, his teeth delicately grazing over the nerve.
“You are doing so good for us sweetheart,” Jack praised while shifting closer to you.
You were so close to your release that your hips twitched away from Joel’s intense suction on you. In response, Joel shoved his face deeper against your pussy. The pleasure became so much that squeezed your eyes shut. Your heart knocked against your rib cages as your toes curled.
Jack pecked a path of soft kisses down your neck as the hand that was spreading your pussy lips was now kneading your breast. You squirmed as his kisses trailed down to your chest. He then yanked on your bikini top, making one of your breasts fall free out of the damp material.
Jack didn't wait a second before circling his tongue against your puffy nipple, the bud hardening at the contact of his saliva.
As Joel thrusted his tongue back into you, your walls spasmed. The knot in your stomach was threatening to snap as he curled his tongue upwards inside of you. You cried out while your breathing became choppy.
Jack sucked on your nipple before pulling away to gaze at your face. “Are you about to cum, sweetheart?” Jack taunted, bringing his thumb to your bottom lip and brushing against it. “Your heartbeat’s all over the place.”
You frantically nodded as your cunt shamelessly clamped around Joel’s tongue. Your thighs quivered while your moans grew noisy. Your loudness earned you a light slap against the cheek by Jack, the immediate stinging sensation causing you to yelp. He carefully traced his thumb against your stinging cheek. “You don't want to wake your dad up, do you?”
“No.” You choked out, gazing up into Jack’s dilated green eyes under the moonlight. Joel flicked his tongue on your aching nerve at a devastating pace. The stimulation pushed you over the edge and your body tightened at the ecstatic release.
“Be a good girl and cum all over Joel’s mouth for me,” Jack said as he pushed down on your lower stomach, an immediate urge to pee formulated deep within you.
“I know baby I know,” Jack cooed while you let out an audible wail and gripped his thick bicep. “Just relax and release it.” The unfamiliar urge to pee proceeded as your orgasm hit you like a brick, waves of pleasure cramming into every nerve of your body.
“Fuck!” You cried out while your body went sluggish. Your pussy released a small quantity of fluids all over Joel’s mouth, dripping down and soaking the blue cushion of the couch. It was the best feeling you've ever experienced.
“Just like that.” Jack praised before taking his hands off your lower stomach, the pressure fleeing in a haste. You made an effort to catch your breath as Joel slowly continued to nurse your sensitive clit. The Aftershocks came in and your hips twitched against his wet mouth.
After a few more licks, Joel rose up from between your trembling thighs. You scanned his dark features as he licked every excess drop of your juices off of his beard.
“Sweetest cunt I’ve ever tasted.” Joel commented before gliding his tongue against his full lips. Jack chuckled as they both released his strong hold on your thigh.
Before you entirely recovered from the intense orgasm, Jack briefly stood up with Joel, yanking you by your forearms so you could get off the sofa.
“Get on your knees, sweetheart,” Jack demanded. You swiftly obeyed his order and kneeled in front of the two, the skin of your knees aching against the tough cement.
“Show us how much you want the both of us, bunny.” Joel added before bringing his veiny hands to his brown belt. While he unbuckled the worn-out leather, you worked on Jack’s trousers. You looked up at them as you unhurriedly zipped Jack’s trousers down.
Anticipation filled your veins as you reached your other hand over to Joel’s blue denim, assisting him in unfastening his belt and unbuttoning his jeans. You moved your focus back to Jack and then pulled his trousers down, his cock straining against his dark green boxers. You dug your eyes to Joel then also hauled his jeans down revealing his grey boxers. Both of their cocks stained the cotton of their boxers with pre-cum.
You swallowed while wrapping your hands around both of their waistbands and tugging against the elastic until their cocks sprang free. Without hesitation, your eyes widened at the sight of the two men’s cock. Your pussy squeezed around nothing just as your gaze remained on the cock’s in disbelief.
Big wasn't even the word. Jack’s cock was an extended length with a slight upward curve, his pretty pink tip glistened in pre-cum. Green veins scattered around his shaft and his balls were trimmed, leaving silver stubbles of hair around them. While Jack had the length, Joel had the very thick girth. A long vein ran up his tan shaft, running from the base of his cock to the end of his mushroom tip. His balls remained covered in brunette and grey hairs.
You looked at them through your lashes. A smirk was growing on both of their faces as both of their cocks awaited your touch.
“Go on, bunny.” Joel encouraged, his voice softer than it's been all summer.“Don't be shy now.”
You stretched both of your hands over to their large cocks, your thumb gradually teasing their mushroom heads. They twitched against your hands as you wrapped your fists around both of them and gently stroked their stiff shafts.
“You like it when I go right by the head?” You teased while grazing the pads of your thumbs by the sensitive area right underneath their tip. A deep moan broke out their mouths as you felt their cocks getting harder by the second.
You then parted your lips and leaned forward to Jack’s tip before spitting on it. Their gazes scorched into your skin as you delicately kissed his tip.The instant warm taste of salt hit your tastebuds before your tongue swirled around the tip. As your mouth closed around Jack’s cock, Joel’s own twitched in your palm.
“Just like that, sweetheart.” Jack quietly groaned while you sucked harder , your tongue flicking the tender spot underneath the tip.
“Looks like she got a favorite.” Joel playfully provoked while thrusting into your fist. You took his comment as an indication to give his throbbing cock some attention.
You dragged your lips away from Jack’s cock, a line of saliva leaving your mouth. While you massaged Jack, you slapped Joel’s fat mushroom tip against your tongue a few times before wrapping your glistening lips around his tips. Joel tossed his head back as his breathing grew unstable from the warmth of your mouth.
“She’s good, ain't she?”
“So fucking good.” Joel grunted a reply while you hauled your hand down to his hairy balls and caressed them into the palm of your hand. The sensation you offered to him immediately made him jolt in your mouth. You hummed against his tip and shot your stare up at Joel and Jack. They towered over you, lips parted in bliss as they watched you claim their cocks. Pleasing them at the same time drove a pulsation to spasm between your clenched thighs.
For a few seconds, you pulled away from Joel’s cock to catch your breath.
“I want to fit the both of you in my mouth.” You hesitantly announced and batted your eyes at them. There was a small stillness in the air as Joel and Jack gazed at each other.
“Yeah?” Jack tested, bringing his rough hands to your jaw.
You chewed on your bottom lip and nodded
“Give it a try then bunny.” Joel motivated and stepped closer to Jack, closing the distance between them. By how near they were, you could have effortlessly fit them both in your mouth.
You held their cocks and slapped both of their heavy heads onto the flat of your tongue, their wet tips brushing against each other. You then shoved them both into your mouth, earning a gag to escape from your throat.
“Well look at that,” Jack pointed out as you sucked on both of their tips, your jaw stretching until it cramped. “She’s such a greedy girl, couldn't even choose,” Joel commented while they both tangled their large hands into your damp hair. You looked up at them like a lost puppy as you took them deeper into your mouth.
“You are taking us so well, nasty girl.” Jack moaned as you bobbed your head up and down, their tips hitting the back of your throat. Your gag produced an excessive amount of saliva that it trickled out of your mouth and down your chin.
“If only your daddy knew the slut you had in his house.” Joel groaned after you resumed caressing their balls in your palms. They twitched in your mouth and thrusted so deeply which earned a loud gag to vibrate against their tips.
After a few more sucks, Jack abruptly pulled out of your mouth. “If I am going to cum it’s going to be deep in this pussy.” Jak said, breathing laboriously.
“You are damn right on that.” Joel then agreed before forcefully releasing his grip out of your hair and pulling his thick girth out of your mouth. Suddenly, you huffed in an inhale while drool thoroughly snaked down to your exposed chest.
Joel and Jack grabbed onto your waist and lifted you to your feet. Before you could process what they were doing, Joel hooked his hands under your thighs and lifted you with ease. The angle they had you in made your body sandwich between them.
Joel held you up like you weighed nothing more than a thin piece of paper. His grip kept you in place, spreading your legs far enough to give Jack maximum access to your exposed, swollen cunt.
You whimpered as you looked down at your puffy cunt. Without warning, Jack leaned forward and rubbed his wet tip against your swollen nerve. Your hips shuddered at the sensation as your widened eyes shot to him. The feeling nearly urged you to shut your legs but Joel’s powerful hold on them prevented you from doing so.
“It’s going to be okay, sweetheart,” Jack mumbled, keeping his dilated eyes on you as he carried his tip down to your pussy’s entrance. Your stomach dropped as your hands flew to his buff shoulders. “Easy…”
“Too big.” You quickly moaned as Jack slowly pushed his cock into you, your cunt swallowed his mushroom tip up.
“Come on bunny, he’s barely in you.” You listened to Joel tssked from behind you, his hot breath airing on the skin behind your ears.
“Relax, we got you.” Jack cooed, feeling how your walls choked his lengthy shaft. He went on thrusting into you until he bottomed out. Your nails dug into his clothed shoulders as your lips parted. He didn't move an inch inside of you until your cunt eventually relaxed on his cock. “Yeah, just like that.” He praised while taking one of your thighs out of Joel’s grip so Joel’s freed hand could explore the contours of your body.
Jack started to move and you immediately threw your head back onto Joel’s chest. A knot of pleasure made its presence known into your lower stomach as your walls perfectly molded Jack’s cock. Jack leaned forward then trailed his gentle lips along your neck as he set a nice and steady pace.
The head of his cock hit a spot so deep within you that your walls unintentionally clamp around him. You cried out in pure euphoria as your legs quivered from his thrusts picking up a faster pace.
“You feel so good, sweetheart.” Jack moaned in a breathy manner as he began to pound into your pussy. The sounds of your wet cunt crammed the air as you looked down at his cock disappearing into you. Your cunt’s juices soaked his shaft and streamed down to the cement below you.
While Jack was fucking you so flawlessly, Joel snaked his hands to your soaked folds. He dragged his rough fingers up to your clit and pressed down on it. Your hips chased his touch as you released a strained sob. Joel delicately circled the aching bud, adding to the pleasure Jack was already giving to you. The familiar sensation in you was building so quickly that your walls spasmed on Jack’s cock.
You whined when Joel then dragged his hands away from your throbbing clit and shifted it up to your face. “Spit.” He demanded as his calloused palms came up to your lips. You followed his orders and blew your warm saliva into the center of his hands, not second guessing one thing. “Since you can fit us both in your mouth, let's see how much this cunt can handle.”
Jack sucked on your neck like he was attempting to claim you as his own. He then paused his thrust to allow Joel into your pussy too. From behind you, he smeared your spit onto the tip of his cock and grew it closer to your cunt.
From how tight you were around Jack’s cock alone, you never expected Joel’s cock to fit in you. But when your cunt started to stretch around his girth, creating enough room for him to fit, you could do nothing but release a guttural wail from deep in your chest. You hissed at his devastating stretch, your entrance stinging in a pleasurable discomfort as you clamped down on them.
Eventually, Joel bottomed out deeply in your pussy. Their cocks rubbed against each other before they finally started to move in you.
“You are so full of us, aren't you bunny?” Joel taunted in a grunt. You nodded frantically as you moaned at the sensation of two cocks tearing your walls apart. Joel’s freed hand found its way to your neck while Jack pressed his lips against your open mouth, muffling your noisy moans.
You struggled to keep up with the rhythm of Jack’s passionate kiss as they both thrusted in you at a snappier pace. You whimpered against Jack’s lips while his tongue slid into your mouth. He then pulled away from your lips and glanced down at you in full lust as he hummed in satisfaction.
“Yes sweetheart.” Jack moaned, moving faster into your cunt. The buildup in your lower stomach was about to release, forcing your walls to spasm in wave-like motions around both of their cocks. “It’s a big stretch, I know baby.”
As they pounded in you at the same time, you became a moaning mess again . Your eyes stayed shut while your nails dug into Jack’s shoulder. Whenever you tried to close your legs and squirm away from their cocks, it just resulted in them spreading you wider.
“Taking us so well, bunny.” Joel grunted behind you as his rhythm turned messy and his grasp on the skin of your thigh got tighter.
Your juices leaked on their cocks, your walls crying at the stretch. You dropped your head back onto Joel’s broad chest and wailed out while your hips jerked from the feeling evolving in you. You were so close and they both knew it by the way your cunt was ruthlessly strangling their cocks. They didn't hold back on their swift pace, not offering you a drop of compassion.
“Atta girl.” Joel’s groans turned into husky whimpers as his hips shuddered against the fat of your ass.
“You fuck me so well.” You choked out in an extended cry as your orgasm threatened to release. “I love your cocks in me.”
“Ain't no guy gonna fuck you this good in Seattle?” Joel challenged while his free hand crept up to your breast, pulling the other one out of the black chlorine-soaked material. He cupped them then gave the sensitive bud a small pinch, gaining a yelp from you. The pinch made you squeeze around the both of them bringing a small chuckle to leave Jack’s lips as he drilled into you. “That right?”
You nodded as Joel nibbled on the skin of your earlobe.
“Use your words, pretty girl.” Jack ordered, snapping his hips against yours to get extremely deeper into you. “Tell us.” Their cocks were reaching areas in your pussy that had never been surpassed before.
“No guy…”You brainlessly trailed off, making an attempt to come up with the words as they fucked your release right out of you. “Is going to fuck me as good as you guys do.”
“Good fucking girl.” Joel then praised while keeping up with Jack’s ravenous thrusts. “See how easy that was, bunny?”
Every muscle in your body sprouted tight as the knot in you snapped. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as bliss washed over you.
“You are so beautiful, keep cumming.” Jack rasped as their thrusts both became messy but speedier. Their cocks jerked in you while your body quivered with a wave of minor tremors. “You are going to make us cum.” Joel added to Jack’s praises.
“Cum in me please.” You choked out, rolling your hips against their cocks in an attempt to milk them dry.
“What a fucking slut.” Joel spat before burying himself deep in your overused cunt, a moan leaving his mouth. “This pussy belongs to us now.” Jack then said while he halted into you too.
Their cocks both twitched in you as they came in your stretched pussy. Their warm, sticky fluids poured against your walls as your eyes broadened in craving at the feeling of being filled up.
They both groaned and drew laborious breaths as they remained buried inside of you, not a single drop of their thick ropes of cum going to waste.
You couldn't believe you allowed your dad's best friends to fuck you.
incl: consent king, 18+ mdni, bit of pervy joel (not really), fingering, masturbation, voyeurism, oral f receiving, praise. both are consenting grown adults. part two. part three.
summary: you don’t know how to make yourself come, joel teaches you.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
He’s been your dad’s friend since forever. He’s seen you at every age, every birthday, every holiday. He’s the one who stopped at the store for your favorite snacks on his way to your dads. The one who heard about the boy who kissed you behind the bleachers at eighteen— and the one who noticed when there weren’t any other boys after that.
He’s always known you were good. Not just sweet to your father, but good: the way you blushed, the way you carried yourself. Joel never asked, never needed to. He could tell. Virgin. Untouched. That’s why sometimes his glances lingered too long, why he let his eyes drop to the swell of your tits when you leaned over, why he’d look away quick but not quick enough. Because he couldn’t really believe that you were one. How could you be one when you were that beautiful?
Your dad laughs like he’s trying to shake the walls down. It runs up the stairs in warm little waves, bourbon-thick and late, Joel’s lower rumble braided through it. You brush your teeth with the bathroom fan humming, stare at your face a little too long—flushed from the heat, from the noise, from the particular way Joel’s voice sticks to the skin—then kill the light and pad down the hall.
Your room is cooler. Quiet. The faint thud of ice in glasses below. You tug an old tee down over your bare legs and fold yourself into the bed. Friday nights like this usually end the same way: your dad pours too much, Joel refuses the drive across town, takes the guest room, locks the door, the house sleeps.
But you can’t. Not with the echo of Joel’s yes sir and no sir and the soft-fond way he told your dad, You always were a mean drunk, James, and the care in it, and the way he looked at you earlier, not at you, not really, but past you, like it hurt him to let his eyes sit there for too long.
You roll to your back and watch the ceiling and let your thighs slide together. It’s been bad lately—the restlessness. The canopy of summer heat, the way every brush of fabric feels like a secret. You think about his hands (wide, blunt fingers, scuffed knuckles that know a wrench from memory) and you immediately shove the thought away like you’re shooing a fly.
The house creaks. The voices go slower. A chair scrapes. Their footsteps on the stairs—your father’s heavier, the stumble that means he’ll be asleep in five. Joel’s comes after, careful, the way he is, like he worries about waking the house even when no one’s sleeping yet. Your door is mostly shut, the guest room two down from yours. His shadow cuts the hall for a second, then the latch clicks and—quiet.
You try to think about something else. You try to think about nothing at all. You kick the blanket to your knees, drag it back up, throw an arm across your eyes, shift, sigh, ache.
Eventually the hand that’s been pretending to just adjust the hem of your shirt stops pretending.
You slide your fingers under cotton and find yourself like you always do: hesitant, tentative, circling where it seems to help, too light or too fast or both. You know how to take the edge off. You don’t know how to do it right. Every time you think you’ve got it, the spark scatters and you’re back at the start, frustrated and hot and too aware of your own heartbeat.
You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from making sound. It’s not like anyone would hear. Still.
Down the hall, Joel lies on his back in the guest room and stares at the faint square of streetlight at the window and tells himself to sleep. He’s good at telling himself things. He’s good at should and don’t and leave it alone. Tonight, none of it sticks.
He hears it before he knows what it is. A soft, sharp little sound, cut off quick. Instinct makes him hold his breath. That’s not pipes or wind or the house settling. It happens again—barely there, like a hiccup of a whimper, swallowed as soon as it’s born.
His name isn’t on it. Still, his body recognizes it, some brutal and unkind piece of him already standing at attention like: there.
He’s up before he decides to be. Bare feet on cool wood, palm to the frame when the floor wants to complain. He tells himself he’s going to the kitchen. He tells himself your dad might have left the back door unlatched. He tells himself to turn around.
The slice of your door is thin as a blade. He doesn’t mean to put his eye to it.
He does.
You’re moonlit and messy, sheet trapped at your knees, shirt pushed high, one hand fisted at the collar like you’re trying to hold yourself in place and the other—he swallows—between your legs, fingers clumsy and stubborn. Your mouth is soft-open, lips damp. He’s never heard you make those sounds. He’s never let himself wonder.
He thinks he’ll back away. He doesn’t. He leans his shoulder to the wood like it can hold him up.
Wrong, he thinks. Every bell in his head clanging. Jesus, wrong. Turn around. Go back to bed. Close your eyes.
You gasp a little when your fingers catch right. He catches himself groaning under his breath, so low it hurts.
And then you turn your head just enough and see him. Not his face—just the bulk of him, the outline at the crack, the weight of him in your doorway like a craving you didn’t order but got anyway.
The noise you make isn’t loud. It might as well be a gunshot. What the hell was he doing there?
“Joel—”
It’s all you manage. He expects the next part to be go. He expects no. He expects the angry, righteous version of you that has every right to exist. None of it happens.
He opens the door instead. Steps inside. Soft click behind him.
The room shrinks around him. He doesn’t come all the way to the bed at first. He gives himself a second to see you properly and you watch him have to take it: throat working, jaw clenched, hands flexing like they don’t know what to do.
If you tell me to leave, I will, he doesn’t say. If you say stop, it’s done, he doesn’t say. It shows anyway—tight in his shoulders, careful in the way he stands there and waits.
You can feel your pulse in your mouth. “I… I didn’t hear you.”
“I know.” His voice is so low it feels like another body in the room. “Door was open.”
You swallow. “Are you… okay?”
His mouth tips, nothing like a smile. “Not the word I’d use.”
“What word then?”
He finally lets himself move. He comes to the side of your bed and sinks to the mattress like he’s afraid to make the springs talk. Up close he smells like clean sweat and old soap and the echo of bourbon on someone else’s breath. He puts his hand on the quilt and not on you, and it takes every atom of your self-control not to nudge your hip into his knuckles.
“Show me,” he says, and the way he says it makes whatever shame was scurrying around your ribcage go silent. “Show me how you make yourself feel good.”
Heat stamps under your skin. “Joel, I—”
“If you don’t want me here,” he says, careful, measured, “say the word and I’m gone. I mean that.” His eyes find yours and hold. “But if you keep me in this room, baby, you do what I tell you. You hear me?”
The last gasp of panic tries to get a foothold and fails. You hold his look and nod, faint as a breath. “I hear you.”
“Words,” he says. It’s not harsh. It lands like a hand on the back of your neck, centering. “Say it.”
“I want you here,” you say, voice small and steadying as it goes. “I want you to watch.”
Something in his face flinches, like you hit him with it. It smooths to resolve.
“Good girl,” he murmurs, and the way he praises you for that little obedience flips a switch you didn’t know you had. “Hands where they were.”
You drag your palm down, under the hem, shyer now that he’s watching, but you do it. He watches your fingers try the same circle you’ve been making for months, that prickly almost-pleasure that always runs away when you chase it too fast.
His brow pulls. He shakes his head once. “Mm-mm. You’re not doin’ it right.”
“I—It’s how I…”
“Yeah,” he says, soft, not mocking, “I can tell. Won’t get you where you want to go doin’ it like that.”
Your cheeks burn. You want to hide. You don’t. “Then… show me.”
He exhales like you just told him he’s going to live. He slips his hand under the blanket, rests it light on your inner thigh. Just weight, just heat. You shiver anyway.
“First thing,” he says, sliding his fingers up slow until they meet the crease where your leg and hip join, “you don’t rush it.” His calluses whisper the path, lingering, making nothing out of you until you’re shaking with it. “You think you want this”—he ghosts across your clit and you gasp—“so you mash at it and it runs from you. Don’t chase. Invite it.”
“I—how?”
“Let me.” He looks up at you like he’s asking for something he shouldn’t. “Can I touch you?”
“Yes,” you breathe, and then it feels like not-enough, and you push up on your elbows and say it like you mean it. “Yes, Joel. Please touch me.”
The sound he makes belongs in the dark. “You ask so damn sweet.”
He eases your hand away. His replaces it. He doesn’t go straight for where you want him; he skates around, between, slides through wet and hums low like he can taste you just from his fingers. He circles, lazy-sure, and presses down so faintly you could cry.
“That’s it,” he says when your hips roll to find more. “Let it ask.”
“Ask?” You can’t help the little laugh in the word, dizzy with nerves and want.
“Your body’ll tell me what it needs. I’m listenin’.” He drags in tighter circles and watches your mouth fall open, watches your chest lift, watches your thighs try to clamp around his wrist. “Keep ‘em open.”
You try to relax them. He rewards you with a little more pressure, just enough to make your eyes flutter.
“Atta girl,” he murmurs, and then gives you a command in the same breath like a tide turning. “Slower. Breathe with it.”
You match your breath to the way he moves you. He chases the breath with rhythm, spirals you outward and back again until you’re hot everywhere and the bed feels too small.
Then his fingers slide down, not inside, not yet. He teases your entrance with the pads and the slick sound he pulls from you makes his head drop. His chest rises against the mattress edge like he’s swallowing his own moan to keep it quiet.
“Joel—”
“I know, baby.” He strokes up again, circles, down again, and each pass makes the one after feel better until you’re twitching under his hand. “You’re doin’ good. Let me… yeah. Right there. Don’t run.”
You don’t. You try. You’re trying so hard you forget to be shy. You arch into it and whimper and he murmurs, “That’s it,” like each little sound is something he asked for and got.
“Gonna show you something,” he says, and you nod, dazed. “Gotta ask again, though. Let me inside?”
You blink at him, dizzy on the precipice. “W–Will it—”
“Just my fingers,” he assures, eyes gentled. “Not gonna take anything from you except what you wanna give.”
You nod. “Yes.” Then again, stronger. “Yes.”
He presses one finger in slow, careful as surgery. You go wide-eyed at the stretch—new, odd, so much and somehow not enough. He pauses, knuckles barely slipped past the first kiss of you, and waits. The burn melts to a full, glowy pressure. Your jaw unclenches. You exhale.
“Good girl,” he praises, and sinks the rest of the way with a groan that he bites off halfway. “Tight little thing.”
The words shouldn’t make your stomach drop the way they do. They do.
He curls, patient, teaching you the shape of him. He finds a rhythm that doesn’t scare your muscles; long, slow, learning strokes that make you gasp at places inside you you didn’t know existed. He keeps his thumb gentle on your clit—enough to keep the hum alive, not enough to tip you too soon.
Then he adds the second finger, and your hands fly to his forearm on instinct. He’s so thick there, so solid; you hold on like he’s going to take you somewhere you won’t be able to walk on your own.
“Eyes on me,” he says, and when you fight to open them he’s already looking, already there. “Don’t you look away when I make you feel good. Want you to see it.”
You breathe like you’re learning how. “Okay.”
He gives you the curve again, that curl at the front wall with the pad of his finger dragging perfect, and you choke on it.
“That’s the place,” he tells you, voice rough. “You feel that? That’s mine now.” He presses again and you make a helpless little noise that earns you a quick, ragged laugh in the back of his throat. “Yeah. Thought so.”
Your legs shake. The bed squeaks once, loud enough to make panic crackle between your ribs. Joel goes suddenly still, his whole body listening. Down the hall: silence. A deep, freighted snore from your father. Nothing else.
Joel’s shoulders drop. The hand not inside you moves, smoothing your hip, and you’re shocked by how tender the gesture feels.
“Breathe,” he whispers, eyes back on yours. “You okay?”
“Uh-huh.” The tiny sound you make trying to say yes is embarrassing. He looks like he could drink it.
“Gonna make you come,” he says, like a vow he has never broken, “and you’re gonna ride it, not run, and you’re gonna say thank you after, because I taught you and I’m real proud of how good you listen. Understand me?”
It’s so dirty it makes another pulse of heat wash through you. “Yes, sir.”
The word hits him like a hand. His jaw loosens and for a beat he looks stunned, then something mean-sweet flickers behind his eyes and his mouth crooks and he speeds his thumb a hair and curls his fingers just so and you—break.
It’s not like before. It’s not like anything. It’s bright and shaking and you feel it in your belly and your throat and the soles of your feet; you clutch his arm and sob out a muffled sound you’ve never heard yourself make. He keeps you there. He keeps you there. He talks you through it like a man with both hands on the wheel driving you out of a storm.
“That’s it, that’s it, look at me, that’s my girl—don’t hide your eyes—fuck, you’re so pretty—there you go, ride it out, ride it—good, good, good—”
When you come down you realize you’re panting, damp hair sticking to your forehead. He hasn’t moved his fingers yet; he’s watching you carefully, the kind of careful that reads as respect. When your body stops flinching around him, he slides them out slow.
You whimper at the emptiness. He swallows like it takes effort, like he wants to put them back because you want him to.
He looks at his hand like it’s not his. Then he lifts his gaze and something flares. He shifts, drops to his knees at the side of the bed like prayer.
“Joel,” you say, weak, already falling.
“Gonna taste you,” he says. He doesn’t move an inch until you nod. “Say I can.”
“You can,” you whisper. “Please.”
He fits himself between your knees and nudges them wide with his shoulders and drawers a hot, wrecked breath over you that makes you jump. And then he puts his mouth on you, open and slow and reverent in a way that feels like a lie coming out of a man that dirty, except it’s not; it’s real, it’s his tongue and his lips and the soft hum he makes when he finds where you’re sensitive now that you’ve come once.
He eats like a man who built the table. He uses his mouth like he’s been dying of a thirst he has to hide and now he’s alone with the well. He flattens his tongue and licks you like he’s laying paint, broad and sure. He focuses where you need, then leaves it and you whine and he comes back with a chuckle that slides into a groan.
“Sweet,” he mutters into you. “Goddamn.”
Your hands go to his hair and then stop midair because you don’t know if you’re allowed. He saves you from the uncertainty by catching your wrists and planting them on his head.
“Hold me,” he orders, voice muffled, and you do. He moans like you did him a kindness.
He teases you to the edge again and when you start to climb he changes his touch, gentler for a moment, letting you settle before he builds you back up. You realize he’s teaching you—what it feels like when it’s too much too fast, how to breathe through it, how to ask for more. He hums a question into you.
“More,” you gasp. “Please—more.”
“Good girl,” he says, and gives it.
The second time is quieter, deeper. Your hips roll to his mouth, your hands flex in his hair, tugging and pulling, and he anchors you with one arm slung over your thigh and belly at the same time, keeping you open for him, keeping you honest. You feel him groan against your skin and the vibration pushes you right over. You go wet and soft and shaking and he tongues you through it, patient, lazily greedy, like he’ll be here as long as you need.
You twitch when you’re too tender. He eases off, kisses the inside of your thigh—just once, soft, the press of a mouth that shouldn’t be where it is—and rises. He braces a forearm on the mattress and breathes, eyes shut like he just walked out of a storm and needs a second to recognize the road.
You’re staring at his mouth when he opens his eyes—wet, slicked with you, and he licks the taste away and looks pained with how much he loves it. The thick bulge pressed awkwardly against his fly is impossible to ignore; he’s hard, he’s been hard, and he’s not once touched himself.
“Does it… hurt?” you whisper, staring before you can stop yourself.
He huffs out something like a laugh and like a curse. “Ain’t nothin’ I can’t handle.”
“Joel…”
“Don’t you worry about me,” he says, soft but stern. “This was about you.”
You flush. It feels like a gift you don’t know how to carry. “I… thank you.”
His eyes close. It humbles him. It kills him. He swallows and nods like you just knighted him.
“Say it again,” he asks, hoarse.
“Thank you,” you say, and it lands in the room like a secret you both promised to keep.
He reaches for the hem of your shirt and eases it down, careful, modest now that he’s ruined you. He tugs the blanket over your hips. He doesn’t kiss your forehead, though you can feel him want to; he puts his palm to the sheet at your hip instead, warm through the cotton, a stand-in for a softness he isn’t allowed.
“Listen to me,” he says, and his voice is back to that guiding tone that made your body obey. “Next time you touch yourself, you’re gonna be patient with it. You’re gonna breathe like I showed you. You’re gonna go soft at first, then press, then back off. When you feel it building too fast, you’ll slow. You’ll ride it. You’ll think about my hand and how I did it. You’ll think about my mouth. You’ll think about me tellin’ you how.”
You can’t do anything but nod. You’ll think about me. As if you hadn’t been already.
“And you’ll keep your eyes open,” he adds, gentler. “Even if I’m not there.”
You whisper, “Yes.”
He stands like it hurts. It probably does. He looks at you long enough to burn a silhouette of this into his skull, then finally drags his hand down his face like a man trying to wipe himself clean. He glances at the door, at the hall beyond where your father sleeps.
“I shouldn’t have come in here,” he says, not apologizing, just stating a true thing he hates. “But I’d do it again.”
He turns. His hand hits the doorknob and pauses. “If you need me to stop comin’ round—if you feel different tomorrow—you say it, and I will. I’ll make excuses your dad’ll believe.”
You sit up on your elbows and the world teeters and rights itself. “Don’t make excuses,” you say, and it’s not brave, it’s just honest. “I don’t want you to.”
He groans like you pulled the stitch. “You’re so good.” It kills him. Truly.
“I—”
His hand lifts. “Don’t. Don’t say more. That’s enough to get me through the night.”
He slips out and draws the door nearly shut, the slim gap he first looked through gone. You lie there in the hush, pulse loud as a radio, his scent in your sheets like a bruise.
Down the hall, Joel closes the guest room door and stands with his back to it like somebody might try to break it down. He breathes until his heart quits trying to leave his chest. He puts his palm over himself and winces, not because he’s delicate but because he’s been holding the line until it cut him.
He tells himself not to think of your sounds. He fails. He tells himself not to think about the way you said sir like it belonged to him and to you and to that room and to nobody else. He fails worse.
He sits on the edge of the bed and puts his head in his hands and laughs once, quiet and broken, at the version of himself with a steady jaw who used to believe you could turn away from everything you want and live. Then he gets up, goes to the sink, fills a glass, gulps it, empties it, runs the faucet until the pipes knock, waits for silence again.
When he climbs into bed, he shuts his eyes and sees how you looked looking back. Opens them, sees the blank ceiling. Shuts them again, finds you anyway. He breathes through it. He bites down on his knuckle to keep from saying your name out loud. He takes what hurts and makes it his.
You lie awake and do as you were told: breathe, don’t chase, be patient with the feeling that rolls through you like a tide still dragging you toward him. When you finally drift, the last thing you know is not guilt or fear but the remembered weight of his palm through the sheet, the firmness of his voice when he told you what to do, the soft-proud way he said good girl like it was the first true thing anyone had given you in months.
Morning will come and make everything ordinary again. Doors will open, coffee will brew, your dad will say Christ, my head, and Joel will answer Yeah, well, that’s what you get, and he’ll rinse a mug and not look at you for three whole minutes like it’s penance, and then he’ll look and the world will tilt the same way it just did. None of that is now. Now is the hush after the tide, the ache and the glow and the lesson set in your skin.
Now is the part where you close your eyes and keep them open, both at once, and learn what it means to remember with your body.
note: i’m ovulating. okay? tend to push out a bit more joel smut when i’m this way…. lord help me. this is gonna have three parts by the way. and of course, maybe some drabbles if i wanna revisit these two. but omg i write way too much. i like to have easier things when i’m having a bit of writers block on some of my series. it helps get the creative juices flowing. i might just pile up a few in the drafts and post them throughout the remainder of the year because this is way too much. you guys, i literally stay up all night writing. someone take my device from me. this isn’t healthy!! but i love it. shhh!
please like, comment, rb, lmk how i’m doing & tell me if i should stop hahaha. thank you to all my honey buns that show my fics some love. you guys truly make writing that much more fun!
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His flannel shirts are making me act up so a little cockwarming thought
Imagine he is just sitting there trying to work on something, rough dirty hands, messy curly hair. Eyebrows furrowed, his glasses on top of his nose and his sweet darling sitting on his lap. He is fully concentrating. Until you decide to start grinding on him, he just looked too good, you couldn’t help yourself.
With a gruff and an eye roll he reaches for his pants, unzipping his cock. „s’what happens when your old man doesn’t fuck you in the morning.” making you slowly take his cock.
When you start riding him he stops you, squeezing your hips, making you whine. You just wanted to cum.
“Didn’t tell you that you could ride me, girl.”
And he is so god damn annoyed with you. Annoyed the way you whine around, the way you make his seat all wet. But his cock feels too good in you, to just sit on him. “Keep me warm, till’ i’m done with this or you’re getting nothing.”
With a pout on your lip, you try to warm him. Cunt all wrapped around his shaft, trying your best to bury your head into his chest, trying your best to not move up and down. And while his public hair is touching your clit, you buck your hips subconsciously at one point.
But joel ignores it until he himself can’t take it anymore. Putting whatever he was working on down and sighing.
“Have myself a needy whore hm? 24/7 only thinking of cock.” While he slowly starts to thrust up to you, seeing your eyes roll back.
“That’s why daddy always needs to fuck her every morning, huh? Whining about wanting to make breakfast early today. But daddy just knows better, baby.”
And you know you should’ve listened to him but you are lost in pleasure as he guides your hips on his cock, daddydaddydaddy spilling from your lips repeatedly.
warnings : smut, established relationship, praise, use of pet names (darlin’, baby, good girl), inexperienced reader, fingering, unprotected p in v, jackson!joel, shy/nervous reader, fluffy, it’s implied that joel & reader are fairly new in jackson (having travelled together), joel has a filthy mouth and talks SO MUCH, appearance from tommy at the end, this is literally 3.7k words of pure pornography im sorry
summary : joel was your first. your relationship has blossomed since then but you’re still inexperienced and he is certain to let you experience everything when it comes to intimacy although you still may be nervous to try new things.
an : ik this account has been exclusively cod characters but i’ve wanted to write for joel for soo long. kinda wanna rebrand and start writing again!!!!
“c’mere,” he murmured, holding his arms out to you, effectively compelling you into his lap. you straddled his thighs and looked down at his lustful gaze, feeling your chest tighten at the sight.
he didn’t seem to care about the fight he’d just had with tommy; you hadn’t even remembered what it was about this time, but what you did remember was tommy storming out of his own house, calling joel a “fuckin’ asshole” and leaving you and him in tommy’s living room like this.
you lean into him, resting your head on his shoulder, and play with the hem of his t-shirt. you hear him sigh above you and lean back against the sofa, instinctively resting his hands on the small of your back as he nosed at the side of your neck.
“you smell real good from that soap they let us use,” he murmured, his gruff voice in your ear.
you smile a little, “i do?”
“mmh,” he hummed, his hands reaching to fidget with the ends of your hair, “don’t know about you, darlin’, but i could get used to this life o’ luxury.” he leans down to press a kiss to the exposed skin of your neck, inhaling as he does.
the flesh on the back of your neck erupts in a shiver, feeling his breath fan over you as he exhales. you stay there, on his shoulder, wanting him to continue; he does. he paves a line of light kisses down to your shoulder as he pulls the neckline of your shirt to the side. a gentle hand runs under your shirt and over the skin of your back. he grins into your skin as he hears you exhale a sigh - a happy sigh - beside his ear.
joel shifts you in his lap, bringing you closer to where his hips bend and gently pulling you from the crook of his neck.
“joel..” you murmur shyly, to which he replies with the raise of his eyebrows in questioning. “you’re um… i can feel you..”
he gives a light chuckle in response and traces his fingertips over where your hair falls over your face, “that right darlin’? you feel what y’re doin’ to me?”
you give a shy nod, feeling your cheeks grow hot. he notices how you avoid looking at his face.
“don’t be goin’ all shy on me now, baby. ‘s alright to feel things.”
you nod again, glancing down to his lap where his jeans seemed much too tight and constricting. he notices but doesn’t say anything, his hands moving to your hips and gently up your sides beneath your shirt. they rise just beneath your breasts; he softly thumbs over your nipples, watching your face intensely for a response. you almost squirm at the delicate touch as you watch the shape of his hands moving beneath your shirt, and exhale a quiet sigh of his name.
“we haven’t done it like this before, have we?” he speaks softly, his hands moving back down to your hips as he sees your nipples are hardened under the soft fabric.
“what?”
“we’ve never fucked with you… on top o’ me,” he repeats. a thumb comes up to trace along your jawline and your eyes flicker back up to his face as you shake your head. he smiles when you look at him, “mmm… you wanna change that, baby?”
you nod.
his smile widens and his thumb on your jaw slides down your neck, to your shoulder, where he pushes your hair back. his other hand transgresses the waistband of your sleep shorts, watching your face as he does so. his hand nestles over your centre, the pads of his fingers tracing over you through your underwear, feeling the dampness. your eyes flutter but you watch intensely as he then delves beneath the thin fabric.
“let’s open you up a bit for me baby, huh?” he says, rubbing slow circles over your clit.
you nod eagerly, his words clouding your mind with arousal.
“there y’ go darlin’.. ‘s a good girl,” he praises as you whimper at his touch. he runs a calloused fingertip through the seam of your pussy, coating himself in your wetness.
using his other hand, he finds the hem of your shirt, and slides it up your waist, exposing your abdomen. “can i take this off?” he asks, glancing up at you.
“i…” you hesitate — what about tommy? if he comes back..? joel continues to swirl his fingers over your sensitive clit, making it near impossible to articulate thoughts. “i— don’t know.. what— what if tommy comes ba-ck?” you struggle between short pants and breaths.
he shakes his head and chuckles, “tommy ain’t comin’ back anytime soon darlin’. don’t you worry.”
“but… if he does? i don’t wanna.. take it off.”
his eyes soften; his fingers slow. “you’re worried about him seein’ you like this, hm?”
you nod.
“th’s okay, baby. you don’t gotta. ‘s okay,” he reassures gently.
you nod again.
he takes his hand from your centre and moves both to your waist, pulling your shirt back down. he places soft, wet kisses along your neck again, speaking softly as he does, “‘s no worries.. we’ll just take it slow. lemme take care o’ you.”
his hand finds its way to your hair, tucking it behind your ear. he pulls away from your neck as he feels you fidgeting with the hem of his t-shirt, and glances up at you expectantly.
“are you.. gonna take yours off?” you murmur, afraid he’d say no and accuse you of hypocrisy.
he raises an eyebrow and smiles, amused that you’re asking. “you feelin’ shy again darlin’? y’ want me to take it off?”
you nod cautiously.
smiling wider, he laughs lightly, “all right, darlin’.” he takes the hem of his t-shirt from your fingers and lifts it over his head, exposing his abdomen and chest, and his hands find your hips again. your eyes rake over his skin, speckled with greying hairs over his chest and a trail of them that let down to his jeans. he watches you watch with a grin wide on his lips, almost with pride.
he gently runs a hand up your thigh; his touch reminds you that he is not in fact just an object that you get to stare at. you glance back up to his face, almost guiltily for the way your hungry eyes take him in.
“don’t feel bad for lookin’, darlin. y’ know i don’t mind.”
he feels you start to get restless in his lap, growing needier with each passing second. his hand slips back beneath your shorts, eliciting an almost frustrated whine from your throat, needing some real alleviation.
“shhh.. ‘s okay baby. ‘m gonna give you what you need in a bit.” his fingers softly graze your centre, wanting to see how much more he could rile you up.
you grind down into his fingers, the whisper of contact simply not enough. he pushes back against you in response.
“you need it real bad, huh?”
you nod, eyes staring to well with tears of need and frustration.
“ohh, i know darlin’, i know,“ he whispers, fingers still circling over your swollen bundle of nerves, as he glances up to you in awe. “you still wanna try bein’ on top?”
you nod.
“good girl.. tha’s my girl…. just need’a get y’ opened up a bit for me, ain’t that right?”
a whimper escapes your throat, feeling your core pulse at his words.
“oh, baby,” he muses pitifully, “…now, ‘m just gonna start with one finger, ‘kay? work up to maybe 3. that all right?”
your mouth falls agape as he pushes one digit into you, up to the knuckle and he curls it towards himself. “not 3, joel.. i don’t want—“
“shhh.. ‘s alright baby. i’ll do whatever you want, ‘kay?” he reassures as he repeatedly pumps his finger inside of you, soothing over that sweet little spot that made your head roll back. your hands move to his biceps, squeezing onto them tightly; he smiles widely as you do.
“there ‘y go.. ‘s a good girl.. lemme hear you baby,” he murmurs, adding a second finger.
you whine softly as he pushes that little bit further inside, and your pussy involuntary squeezes around him, almost keeping his fingers in place.
“j—joel..” you whimper, feeling how the bicep that is pumping his fingers inside of you strains and flexes beneath your grasp with each movement.
“c’mon baby, y’ gotta relax f’ me.. squeezin’ me so god damn tight.. ‘s like y’r try’na break my fingers or somethin’,” he chuckles, gently soothing his free hand down your side.
“sorry,” you whimper, slightly embarrassed although you know he doesn’t mind.
“‘s alright darlin’.. there y’ go, ‘s alright,” he mutters, feeling you open up as warm waves of pleasure wash from your abdomen and over your body.
“such pretty sounds y’r makin’ baby,” he compliments as you whine, mewl and babble his name, obscene wet sounds making your mind go fuzzy, “you think you’re opened up enough f’ me yet darlin’? y’ ready for me?”
he slows his fingers as you nod; with one last deep push into your aching spot, he removes them from you.
you whimper at the emptiness, shifting upon his lap and eyes darting around his face pleadingly.
“i know, i know darlin,.. y’ wantin’ more ain’t ya?”
you nod shamelessly.
“well now baby.. i need you to be patient for me then.. don’t want you hurtin’ yourself because you were impatient, now, do we?”
you shake your head, becoming aware of your neediness.
“hmmm.. didn’t think so,” he muses as he leans back into the sofa, “now.. you wanna unbuckle me or do you want me to do it?”
his fingers splay over his belt; you look between his hands and his face, afraid of disappointing him.
“um… you can do it,” you mumble
“tha’s all right. ‘s no problem darlin’,” he smiles at your bashfulness as his fingers begin to make work of his belt. he doesn’t wait to pull the soft leather from his jeans; he just unbuttons and unzips them, his self control running low.
he sees your curious gaze glancing down to his hands, eyeing his arousal through the thin fabric of his underwear. “you got me so fuckin’ hard baby,” he chuckles, palming himself through his boxers with a soft grunt.
you blush in response, unable to hide the proud smile that spreads over your lips. he grins, and his thumb moves to your lower lip, gently brushing over the delicate skin. “sweet girl,” he muses, “y’ still alright with bein’ on top?”
you nod in response, excitement building and tightening your chest.
“all right then darlin’. y’ just need’a relax for me, okay? we’ goin’ real slow, just like we’ve been doin’ so far, right?”
you nod; he holds your gaze for a little while, his fingertips moving to the hem of your shorts where he traces along their underside, “can i take these off darlin’?”
you nod eagerly - maybe too eagerly. smiling, he hooks his fingers into their waistband and tugs them down your thighs. you lift a leg out of them to help, leaving them dangling from your other. his thumbs rub over the front of your underwear, “‘m just gonna pull these to the side, that all right baby?”
you nod again, and he squeezes your thighs, shifting you closer, musing a quiet “c’mere” as you settle further into his lap, the most intimate part of you flush against his still clothed hardness. “there you go darlin’.. you ready to give it a go?”
“mhm,” you almost whimper, lifting yourself slightly as he palms himself again, before he pulls himself out - achingly hard and leaking at the tip. he strokes his hand over himself once, a small groan leaving his lips. his freehand settles at your hip, guiding you to hover over him, as you steady yourself on his shoulders and look between your two bodies.
“just do whatever feels natural, baby.. whatever feels right, okay? you ain’t gonna hurt me and i ain’t gonna judge you,” he reassures, as if he can feel your racing mind.
you nod and you let yourself fall a little closer to him, whimpering when you make contact. his tip notches at your weeping entrance; he slides the head of his cock through your slick, eliciting a small whine from deep in your throat.
“easy baby.. now, y’re nice ‘n’ wet, so it shouldn’t hurt, okay? ‘s just gonna feel real full,” he mutters with an adoring glint behind his eyes as he takes the image of you in: eyes fluttering closed, hair slipping over your shoulder, mouth agape and falling apart on his lap.
you lower yourself down a little more, his tip pushing into you and your pussy swallowing him wholly. you earn a grunt from joel; he moves both his hands to your waist, gently guiding you over him, selfishly unable to hold himself back.
“just like that baby.. yeah, feels real good.. there y’ go,” he mumbles breathlessly, feeling you lower further. you instinctively squeeze around him at the praise, your abdomen fluttering and erupting in spasms of warmth, sinking yourself down until you’ve taken him to the hilt.
he releases a guttural groan at the warmth of you clenching around his cock. on the brink of losing himself already, he tightens his grip on your hips and stills you, a series of grunts and breaths stringing from his throat. “christ, baby.. y’ gonna have to wait just a minute.. just a sec.. y’ got me seein’ fuckin’ stars sweet girl,” he speaks, his eyebrows pinched together and eyes tightly closed.
you moan out at the feeling of fullness, your head falling to rest in the crook of his neck as his dick presses into a delicious spot deep inside of you. he regains composure after a little while and begins to lift your hips slightly before pulling you back down. soft mewls and whines fill his ear, the pretty sounds travelling straight to his cock.
“mm.. there y’ go baby girl.. y’ feel that? feels nice ‘n’ full, huh?”
you nod weakly, feeling tears begin to well in your eyes at the sensation of being so full. lifting you with both hands, he slides one up your side beneath your shirt; you help him by steadying your legs around his thighs and raising yourself up, before he pulls you back down, earning a loud whine as a tear spills down your face.
he moans, head leaning back and reeling in the way you’re wrapped around him so tightly. noticing the small stream down your face, he speaks breathlessly, “you okay darlin’? you ain’t hurting on me, now, baby, are ya?”
you shake your head, barely able to concentrate on his words, “‘m fine.. just feels— good.”
his thumb wipes over your warm cheek as he grins, “mm.. well.. you’re doing so good f’ me baby.”
as you squeeze around him again, he grunts loudly, his hold on you tightening and an almost pained expression coming over his face. “i swear to christ, y’re doin’ that on purpose,” he strains.
“sorry,” you mumble, trying to relax.
he smiles and shakes his head, “don’t apologise baby.. felt real good. y’r pussy’s just so goddamn tight.”
you start to move on your own, your forearms resting on his shoulders for leverage as you push yourself up and then back down, building a painstakingly slow rhythm. your faces just mere inches apart, he grabs onto your chin and pulls you to his mouth, your lips pressing together hungrily. he swallows your whines and moans with his tongue pushing into your mouth and his lips enveloping yours as you keep up your slow pace, up and down over his cock. he kisses the corner of your mouth, then your jaw, leaving wet marks along your neck that have you whimpering his name.
“tha’s a good girl baby,” he murmurs into your skin, “just make y’self feel good.. take y’r time… that’s it, take it nice ‘n’ slow darlin’.”
you take him slow and deep, undoubtedly unable to increase your pace, but he’s patient enough to let you take him however you want to. his cock notches against that sensitive spot inside of you that only joel knows, dragging along your walls with every rut against him. you look down and watch as you take him, filled to the brim every few seconds, your clit pressed against his greying hair. his chest gleams with droplets of sweat and his abdomen rises and falls with his short breaths. your mouth stays agape and you bury your head into his neck, moaning into the skin there each time you feel him deeply.
“ohh.. ‘s that feel good sweet girl?” he asks as he looks down to you pressed against his shoulders.
“uh-huh,” you mewl, barely able to form coherent words.
“tha’s good.. doin’ so fuckin’ good f’ me baby.”
its not long before your thighs begin to ache. you slow down even further, your legs burning with fatigue. being on top isn’t as easy as it seems; you grasp onto joel with the last ounce of energy you have left.
he feels your thighs tremble and your pace begin to slow more. “you doin’ okay there darlin’?” he drawls, guiding your head out from his neck.
“i— i can’t joel,” you almost whine as you stop, his cock still hard inside of you.
“‘s okay baby. you tired y’self out, huh?” he murmurs empathetically, giving a light kiss to your cheek, “you wanna get on your back?”
you hesitate for a moment, wondering if he’s secretly disappointed, but nevertheless, you nod. “c’mon,” he muses, lifting you onto your back, his dick still inside of you. as he lays you down onto the couch, he gently soothes kisses over your neck and your legs wrap instinctively around his waist. you shuffle yourself downwards slightly, getting comfortable and you exhale a needy sigh, moving your arms to enclose over his back as he holds himself above you.
“‘s that better baby?”
you nod and give him a smile, to which he returns with a grin and a tender kiss to your lips before he pulls back his hips and pushes them back into you. he starts to set a slow pace with long, gentle strokes, grunting with each movement, feeling you tighten around him as the speed of his hips gradually increases. a particularly deep thrust had your back arching with a sharp moan and your nails press down into his back. his head drops at the feeling, a series of loud groans leaving his mouth, as he caught a glimpse of your lower abdomen rising slightly with each thrust of his hips. his groans turn into a soft laugh as he continues to rut into you.
“oh.. sweet jesus baby..” he says, glancing up to your face, “gimme y’r hand.”
you take a hand from his back and hold it to him. his own hand encloses over the top of yours and he moves it between your two bodies, placing it over your abdomen as his hips move against you. you whimper at the feeling of his cock pushing against your walls from the outside, the flesh of your stomach pushing against the palm of your hand as his thrusts quicken in their pace.
“y’ feel me right here, hm? y’ feel that baby?” he almost taunts, pressing your hand down a little harder. the extra pressure has your eyes rolling closed; you tighten around him subconsciously.
“ohhh.. she likes that, huh?” he chuckles, removing his hand from yours and picking up his pace, determined to drive you closer to the brink of your high. his thrusts grow more erratic as he nears the edge himself, haphazardly pushing in and out of you as he begins to lose focus. he feels you swallowing his cock tighter with each movement of his hips.
“you gettin’ close f’ me baby girl?”
you nod, the pleasure building at your abdomen overwhelming all of your senses.
“c’mon then baby. let go f’ me darlin’. lemme feel ya.”
his ruts grow deliberately deeper and faster; he grunts grow louder and strained behind his teeth. you mewl into his ear, your back arching your abdomen into his and the heels of your feet digging into his lower back.
“joel— i’m..”
“tha’s it baby. don’t fight it.. let it happen.. good fuckin’ girl.”
his praise pushes you over the edge, the coil inside of you pulling taut and your core spasming with waves of heat, carnal pleasure shooting all the way to the tips of your fingers. your clit pulses as he continues to sloppily move inside of you, teetering on the edge of his own orgasm, until he feels he’s about to collapse over the brink with one last thrust. he pulls himself out and strokes his wet cock a few more times before he bunches up your shirt and spills himself over your stomach with a guttural groan, his hips jerking with each rope of come that paints your abdomen.
he collapses atop of your spent body with one final grunt as his head falls to rest on your shoulder. your body still trembles with the aftershocks of your high whilst you both try to catch your breath.
“fuckin’ hell,” he chuckles breathlessly, glancing up to see a lazy smile spread across your face, “you doin’ alright there baby?”
“mhm,” you hum, too tired to talk as your eyes flutter closed.
“good.. you did real good darlin’… y’ know.. i was—“
the sound of the front door opening. joel’s head drops to your shoulder again, muttering a quiet “shit”. your body is hidden beneath him; tommy must’ve been able to see joel’s back from behind the sofa. you hear what could only be tommy’s laugh.
“don’t tell me you two have just fucked on my couch.”
Joel Miller x fem!reader
part 1 | part 2
summary: When your mother asks you to take Joel to a family wedding, you start opening up to him in ways you haven't with anybody else.
word count: 24k
warnings: dbf!Joel, control kink, decision making kink (?), age gap (20s & 50s), praise kink, asphyxiation, unprotected p in v, Joel calls reader kid or kiddo, edging, orgasm denial, orgasm control, reader works out her family issues on Joel's cock, Joel is very understanding and sweet, Joel is something of a fatherfigure and had a relationship to reader when she was a child, I need to be shot, reader presents herself in a feminine way (wears a dress and makeup), reader has a tattoo (not described), description of reader's family, reader drinks alcohol
note: this is what happens when my cousin announces she's getting married! It's been stewing in my drafts since February, I am very proud of it. Inspired by a scene from Fleabag — you’ll understand why. Enjoy reading, and tell me what you think if you'd like. Keeps me motivated and makes me smile
Your mother should be crowned queen of awkward, bad ideas. And this one surely takes the cake.
"I’m going alone, Mom, it’s not the nineteen-thirties."
"It’s a wedding, darling, who will you dance with?"
You scoff – if you know one thing, it’s that you certainly will not be dancing in front of people, not without the sufficient amount of alcohol.
"Are you gonna ask aunt Ruth the same thing just cause she divorced uncle–."
"You don’t have to be such a smart-ass," she interrupted, "Joel would be going alone otherwise, and this way you both get to have someone there with you! I think he’s been lonely ever since Sarah moved out."
And what’s that got to do with me?, you want to ask, but your mother is right. Your next door neighbor has been sulking all summer, drinking beer on the porch and staring at the driveway as if that will make his daughter magically reappear. Sometimes when you get home in the evening you chat with him for a few minutes. You like Joel – he has the same aversion to smalltalk as you do, so the conversation isn’t superficial. Still, it doesn’t change the fact that he’s pushing his late 50s.
"It wouldn’t be a real date, honey, I’d never set you up with him," you mother starts again, and you sigh. "I just think it’d cheer him up to spend time with someone who isn’t your father."
You almost ask your mother to go with him if it’s so important to her, but of all the guests there he’s probably the easiest to talk to. Not one to make a fuss, Joel Miller. You could just sit quietly next to each other, and if he’s your partner you doubt there’ll be much dancing. Maybe you could convince him to tell any other man who asks you to dance to fuck off. It would make your evening much more enjoyable than pressing your sweating body against the friend of a distant cousin and awkwardly swaying to some romantic pop song from 2009 with your parents watching. It’s a mystery to you why Joel is going at all – it’s not like it’s someone in his family who’s getting married. Your mother mentioned something about the groom and Joel having worked together on a job, but you weren’t paying attention much, as it was before she was trying to pimp you out to a guy basically triple your age.
"I’ll talk to him about it," you concede, and she smiles, clearly taking your answer as success already. You’re not as sure Joel will be thrilled about this idea, can almost hear his grumpy response: you even old enough to stay up past 9 pm? Still, maybe it will get your mother off your back if you at least try to convince him.
***
So you knock on Joel’s door, a tray of cookies your mother made for him in your slightly sweaty hands. You know he’ll find the idea absurd, and you’re not looking forward to being teased for proposing it.
"Hey, kid," Joel drawls when he opens the door, an easy smile tugging on his lips.
"Hi," you answer, pushing the tray towards him, "Mom made these and wanted you to have some."
"Geez, she thinks I don’t eat now that Sarah’s in Boston."
You get the inkling your mother isn’t entirely wrong about that, you haven’t seen Joel do his usual run for groceries in weeks. He probably eats steak every day, no vegetables. The thought almost makes you grin. Joel takes the tray from you and raises an eyebrow.
"You wanna come in?"
"Yeah, I’m definitely eating those," you say, nodding towards his cookies. He scoffs good-naturedly and kicks the door open further with his foot.
"No way, I’m not givin’ these away. Your mother’s bakin’ is sublime."
"Think of it as payment."
He snorts.
"What for?"
"Bringing them over."
Joel shoots you a look that clearly says stop whinin’, you live across the street, but doesn’t answer, just leads you to his kitchen and gets out milk and two glasses. He pushes one over to you, and you dunk one of your mother’s chocolate chip cookies in the milk, watching Joel do the same thing. You eat quietly for a moment, just enjoying the sugar melting into your tongues.
"Mom wants you to take me to my cousin’s wedding," you say once you’ve swallowed your first bite. Joel looks like he has dough stuck in his throat, and when he starts coughing you briefly wonder if you’d be able to perform the Heimlich maneuver on a man of Joel’s size, but he recovers quickly, and gulps down some milk.
"Why?" he asks, voice hoarse. You could lie, but Joel would know – you’ve never been able to hide stuff from him. He knew you were smoking behind his garage when you were seventeen, recognized the boys you snuck in and out of your bedroom window. He never told on you, though.
"She thinks we’re both loners."
Joel scoffs, and takes another bite of his cookie. You shrug.
"I told her it’s a bad idea. She said we needed a dance partner."
You’re grinning, the idea of Joel in a suit and dancing more than absurd. The most you’ve seen him do is tap his foot while listening to his classic rock radio station in his garage.
"I don’t dance," he answers, his brows furrowing.
"Neither do I."
He looks at you inquiringly, and you raise your eyebrows.
"What?"
"You’re what, twenty-one and you don’t dance? Aren’t you supposed to be spendin’ your weekends in clubs, makin’ all sorts of bad choices?"
"Okay, then, let me rephrase that: I don’t dance without at least four shots of tequila in my bloodstream and I doubt my parents would approve of me getting wasted at a family wedding."
Joel hums, as if to say fair point, and looks thoughtful for a second.
"You wanna go with someone else?"
The question is unexpected, you can’t help but answer it honestly.
"No."
Joel holds your eye contact, and you sigh.
"I’m not seeing anyone at the moment and my family is fucking insane, so I’m definitely not taking any of my friends."
That makes Joel chuckle, and for a brief moment you wonder what he thinks of your family.
"So let me take you, then. Wouldn’t have to waltz or nothin’."
No comment about your age, no teasing remarks about the boys Joel knows you see without your parents being aware of it.
"Why?"
Even to your own ears, your voice sounds suspicious. You lean on Joel’s kitchen island and stare up at him inquiringly. He doesn’t look away, not intimidated in the slightest.
"Your Dad’s been tryin’ to get me to ask out Loretta Henderson."
"What, and you’re not interested?"
You know Loretta, a nosy woman who knows all the gossip in the neighborhood. The thought of Joel going out with her makes you frown, he’s so much nicer than her.
"No," Joel just answers, but doesn’t offer much more. You sigh, and he cocks an eyebrow. "What, are you Loretta Henderson’s personal cupid now?"
"It’s not that," you say a little grumbly.
"What, then?"
His voice is uncharacteristically gentle, and you find yourself giving into his question before you can change your mind.
"I don’t wanna go to that stupid fucking wedding at all."
There, it’s out in the open, all your childish and petulant disdain for family events. Now he’ll demand explanations, say you’re silly, to grow up and make your parents happy.
"So don’t go."
You stare at him. He stares back, and after a couple of seconds the corners of his mouth lift in a brief, tentative smile.
"You don’t gotta go, kid, with me or with anyone. You’re an adult."
Sure, but it’s your cousin’s wedding. Who bails on something like that? Joel Miller, maybe. He’s not exactly known to be the life of every party, although you know he can stomach quite a few beers. The thought of him building a tolerance on his own makes your frown reappear.
"It’s not that simple," you answer, staring at the crumbs of cookie in what’s left of your milk. "My parents would kill me. Like, genuinely, they’d put an axe to my neck."
Joel chuckles and the sound feels warm in your ears.
"I highly doubt that. You wanna talk about why you’re skippin’ a free three course meal and unlimited drinks?"
"I’m not skipping anything," you argue, then sigh, and look at your hands. "I’m the second oldest after my cousin, and she’s got this great guy, and a degree, and probably twin babies who won’t ever cry on the way, and I…I just don’t think I can handle every single one of my aunts asking me why I’m still single."
Joel is watching you, and hums as if to say he understands, and before you change your mind, you keep rambling.
"I always gotta justify every decision I make to them, you know? Like when I started my first degree, and when I quit it, and when I cut my hair, and got a tattoo. It’s exhausting. I’m awful at decision-making on the best of days, but my whole extended family scrutinizing me makes it hell."
You know you’re being dramatic, that there’s people with worse problems than a distant family member’s snide comments about a tattoo. But still. Still, you don’t want to spend your precious free day defending the choices you struggled with making in the first place, choices you question yourself, day after day.
Joel looks thoughtful, and he contemplates your words for so long, you think he might not answer at all, but then he pushes the cookies over to you, as if to say you need these more than me.
"I was so young when I had Sarah," Joel says to your surprise, "and everybody had somethin’ to say about it. Kept askin’ me if I was sure about havin’ a kid at that age, while I was holdin’ her in my arms, as if I could’ve just gotten her receipt and returned her like a pair of jeans."
You’re not entirely certain, but you think this might not be the kind of thing Joel tells people easily. He sighs.
"Look, I know it’s exhaustin’ to always have to stand your ground, ’specially when it’s shaky even without people voicing their unwarranted opinions. If peace of mind is what ya want, I’d say definitely avoid them. But if you wanna stand up for yourself and tell them to mind their business, I’ll drive your getaway car."
It’s so very much like Joel to offer something like that – taking you to a wedding just so that you can leave it. You can’t help it, you smile. He smiles back, and it makes the crinkles around his eyes more prominent. It’s a good look on him.
"Alright," you say after a second, thinking that if all else fails, you’ll be able to explain all the family gossip to Joel – maybe the day doesn’t have to be all bad.
"Alright," Joel agrees, "what color dress are you wearin’? So I can match my tie."
You groan – partly because the image of Joel Miller in a suit and tie is, for some reason, devastating, and partly because the idea of picking a dress makes you want to scream.
"Fuck, Joel, they’re gonna hate whatever I wear anyway," you mutter, aware you’re making something big out of something small, that any girl would be happy to get to pick out a pretty dress for a wedding – you can see the judgmental looks already, though: too overdressed, too underdressed, too colorful, too conservative, too this and that.
When you look up, Joel is watching you, brows furrowed while he’s thinking. You kind of wish he’d just tell you to suck it up and stop whining.
"Want me to pick it?"
You stare at him. It’s an odd proposition, and the absurdity of the situation is catching up to you – Joel Miller asking to pick your dress for the wedding he’s taking you to, so that the decision won’t fall onto your shoulders. Flannel-wearing, denim-loving Joel, picking a dress he thinks is best suited for you and for the occasion, perhaps even one he would like to see you in. It makes your head spin. It’s strange, absurd, weird, but the idea is oddly soothing. Would you feel self-conscious under your family’s stares if you knew Joel liked the dress? If the choice wasn’t yours in the first place, would you still find a way to feel guilty about it?
"I do," you answer quietly. You know you’re treading in dangerous waters now. Something feels blurry about this conversation, and although you trust Joel not to have ulterior motives, you’re also aware you both know there’s something happening here beyond a choice of dress.
"Alright," Joel says again, just like that.
"Alright," you say. Just like that.
***
Joel takes you shopping, because in his own words he’s never had to buy a fancy dress for Sarah, so you hop onto the passenger seat of his Bronco and try to find a radio station with songs that aren’t several decades older than you, but Joel doesn’t seem to enjoy anything past the 80s, so you opt for a 60s station – Dusty Springfield coos into your ear as you watch Joel turn on the engine.
"My parents somehow don’t think this is strange," you say, and Joel shoots you a glance – you’re clearly implying they should.
"Do you?"
You hum, then shrug.
"I’ve never met a straight man who went shopping for dresses voluntarily. Is there a specific reason you’re not interested in Mrs. Henderson?"
Joel looks over at you with a raised eyebrow.
"Sarah says it’s not politically correct to joke about bein’ gay," he answers seriously, and you grin.
"Yeah, but it’s funny in this case. Poor Loretta, she’s so blissfully unaware of just how small her shot at going out with you is."
Joel shakes his head, but you can see his mouth twitching under his beard.
"Your teasin’ don’t affect me, sweetheart."
"Don’t knock it till you’ve tried it, Miller."
"I have."
You gape at him, and an involuntary giggle leaves your mouth.
"You’re kidding."
Joel laughs, and runs a broad palm over his beard.
"I’m not. Had a friend called Bill who kissed me once. Hell, I must’ve been your age."
"What happened?" you ask impatiently, a broad smile on your face. Joel shrugs.
"Nothin’. Was a good kiss, but the beard sorta bothered me, so I told him I wasn’t interested like that and that he should ask out Frank. He was another friend of ours, ’n I knew he liked Bill. They’re married now, as far as I know."
It’s oddly sweet instead of funny, and you watch the scenery pass with a smile on your face.
"So why are you spending your Saturday at the mall with me instead of…I don’t know, tinkering with your car? Missing Sarah already?"
Joel looks over and smiles, and in that brief second something in your stomach flutters.
"I’m practically forcin’ you to go to that wedding, the least I can do is spare you the stress and get you your dress myself."
"Technically, you’re not sparing me much if you make me come with you because you don’t know shit about dresses."
Joel scowls and you grin.
"Technically, I could turn this car around right now and make you go in a jeans and t-shirt."
"Can’t make me do anything, Miller."
He doesn’t answer.
***
Turns out Joel’s idea of shopping is getting every single dress in the shop in your size, and making you try them all on. Although his intention was to relieve you of the decision, he’s sort of unhelpful – he tells you it looks real pretty every time you come out of the changing room, and when you can’t stifle a laugh after the fifth time, he clumsily tries to explain why – he likes the purply sort of color.
After around ten dresses, each a different color and style, you feel exhausted – you do like a few, but some have more cleavage than you usually wear, others might be too casual for a wedding, and you sit down on the little bench in the changing room while Joel puts the last dress back on the hanger.
"I changed my mind, Miller, I’m not going to the wedding," you groan. Joel leans against the wall of the changing room, the red dress you tried on last still in his hands.
"I’m no good at this," he says apologetically, "told you I’d help ya pick one and it’s still stressful, sweetheart, I’m sorry."
The nickname makes that flutter in your stomach reappear.
"No, it’s not your fault," you answer and play with the hem of the dark blue dress you’re currently wearing, "I just…I don’t wanna buy a dress cause they’ll like it."
Joel considers you for a couple of seconds.
"Which one would you get if your family wasn’t there?"
You sigh.
"But they are there, Joel–"
"Which one?"
His tone doesn’t allow any arguing, so you look at the dresses, chewing on the inside of your cheek. You liked a baby blue one, a black one, and a light pink one. You lift them up to show Joel, and he smiles.
"So get one of these," he says, as if it’s that easy.
"The blue one has too much cleavage–"
"You’re twenty-one, sweetheart, and you ain’t a nun."
It makes you chuckle, despite yourself.
"I think the baby pink one might be too close to white, you’re not supposed to wear white to somebody else’s wedding."
Joel snorts.
"’S your cousin colorblind?"
You groan, looking between the three dresses.
"Which one would you most like to wear in your own apartment, when you get dressed up just for yourself?"
You stare at Joel, heat rising in your cheeks, as if he caught you doing something you weren’t supposed to be doing.
"I’m a girl-Dad," he reminds you softly, and you have a sudden image of Sarah playing dress-up in front of Joel’s bedroom mirror in your mind. Again, that flutter in your stomach.
"This one," you say quietly, and lift the hanger of the light blue dress. Joel nods, takes the dresses from your hands, drapes the blue one over his forearm, and clutches the curtain of the changing room in his massive fist.
"I’m returnin’ these, you’re changin’ into your jeans again and then we’re gettin’ the blue one."
It’s more expensive than the black one, you want to say, but Joel closes the curtain without giving you the time to argue, and you hear his heavy footsteps as he makes his way out of the changing rooms. All of a sudden you have to smile – relief washes over you now that a decision is made.
When you walk out of the changing rooms in your jeans and t-shirt again, the dress you changed out of long forgotten on its hanger, you can see Joel at the checkout, handing the cashier something, and you practically run over to him.
"Absolutely not, Joel, you’re not payi–"
"Thank you," Joel says to the cashier, putting his card back into his worn leather wallet and looking at you, "It’s done. Quit whinin’ and take your new dress."
He hands you the bag with a smile, and although you feel guilty, there’s also a strange sort of comfort in knowing Joel payed for it. Sure, it’s yours, but in a way you’re giving the weight of your family’s reactions, good or bad, over to him.
"Thank you," you say softly, "you didn’t have to do that."
"I know," Joel just answers, "you got matchin’ shoes?"
***
The wedding is still a week away, when you get a message from Joel.
Are you driving to the wedding with your family, or with your date?
You smile, and consider his question for a second. You’re all spending the weekend in a hotel, arriving a day early, and knowing your parents, the packing and driving won’t be exactly peaceful. You don’t know what they will think if you tell them you’re going with Joel, but then you remember your mom asked you to spend time with him so he isn’t lonely. It’s the perfect excuse, and the idea of spending the hours with Joel in his Bronco rather than in the backseat of your parents’ car, trying hard to keep the peace between them while they’re stressed, makes you feel almost giddy.
With my date, you don’t know him tho ;)
You can practically hear Joel’s huff.
Smartass. I’ll pick you up at nine on Friday, don’t oversleep.
From then on you text Joel from time to time. You’re not sure why, but you like the way he responds to you. It never takes him long, even when he surely must be working, and the idea of him checking his phone at a construction site makes that flutter in your stomach reappear. You know it’s stupid, and although it’s not technically flirting, it’s also not innocent, but you tell yourself you’re only going to the wedding because your mother asked you to, so you might as well have a little fun while doing it. And anyway, Joel sure doesn’t seem to mind.
Picked a suit yet? Or r u going in a flannel?
Funny. Picked one that goes well with your dress.
Pic pls??
I’m working. Sorry, sweetheart.
The nickname feels somehow more solid in text than it does in conversation. It’s not a slip of the tongue, he took his time to type it out on his phone, probably with his forefinger, using his other hand to hold the phone.
When the wedding is a week away, your mother starts stress-baking, and asks you to bring Joel one half of the carrot cake she made. You think about asking her how one person is supposed to eat half a cake, but consider your chances of Joel sharing it with you higher if you keep your mouth shut.
When you knock on his door once again, it takes him a second to open the door. He’s drenched in sweat, his old shirt damp and his curls unruly.
"Oh, hey kid," he says with a surprised smile, his eyes flickering towards the cake. "What’s it this time, an uncle’s funeral?"
You snort, and he opens the door wider.
"Are you working out?"
"No," Joel say in a tone that suggests the idea is absurd, "I’m gardenin’."
You watch him lead the way to his kitchen, his broad back and thick arms making you feel a little squirmy. His answer suggests he doesn’t work out, and you wonder if he got so fit just from his job. You always figured contractors just managed the construction sites, but maybe Joel does the construction himself. You think you enjoy entertaining that thought a little too much.
"Can I see your suit?"
Joel glances at you, and you place the cake on his kitchen isle as he gets out two plates.
"No," he answers, a little gruff.
"It’s a common misconception, but it’s actually just the bride who shouldn’t show her outfit to her date," you tease, "the guests are allowed."
Joel scowls, and shakes his head.
"I don’t know anybody who talks back as much as you do."
"You might not know many smart people. I’m quick."
Despite himself, the corners of Joel’s mouth twitch into an amused smile, and he hands you a piece of cake.
"Come on, Joel, you got to see my dress, too," you try again, almost begging now.
"You’ll see it on Saturday."
"Why?"
Joel clears his throat, but you don’t let him off the hook, just chew your piece of cake in silence while you wait for him to answer.
"Cause it’s…it’s ridiculous. I’m not a suit guy."
He’s shy, you realize, maybe even insecure about it. You wonder if he fished out the last suit he wore from the back of his closet, probably still with 80s shoulder pads.
"Now I’ve got to see it," you decide, and when Joel sighs, you know you’ve won. He glares at you for multiple seconds, not breaking the eye contact. Then he shakes his head again, and leaves to get it.
When he returns, he hasn’t put the suit on like you hoped, but you’re relieved to find a classic black suit jacket and pants draped over his arm. You take it from him, holding the jacket up and nodding appreciatively.
"This is nice," you tell him honestly, "no flared pants or fringes."
Joel laughs, the sound traveling up your spine and settling in your chest.
"I’m not that old."
You grin, and hand him the suit back.
"You’ll look really handsome in it," you say softly, because you can tell the idea of wearing it makes him uncomfortable, and because it’s true. You like the way he looks even in his sweaty old t-shirt, but in a suit he’ll surely turn heads. He looks slightly embarrassed at your comment, and smoothes over a wrinkle in the fabric.
He mutters something under his breath and gently drapes the suit over the back of a dining chair. "Wish I could go in a pair of jeans."
It’s endearing, and you wonder if Joel is unaware of how attractive he is. He’s certainly not one to make a fuss about his looks.
"Well, you’d just embarrass me, cause some crazy guy picked and bought a real fancy dress for me. We have to match, sorry."
Your words have the desired effect, and Joel chuckles.
"It’s not too late to bail, though," you offer, "if you’re just coming cause of me."
Joel’s eyes don’t leave yours.
"Gettin’ cold feet?"
You shrug.
"Mine were never really warm. Yours?"
"Toasty," he says softly, eyes still on yours. All of a sudden is a little harder to swallow you mother’s carrot cake.
"You’re still nervous about goin’," Joel says, and it’s more an assessment than a question. You shrug again.
"Why?" he asks, " ’S not about the dress, I saw how happy you were when I made the decision for you."
Something about that sentences makes your stomach flutter again. Make them all for me, you want to say, and instead shove more cake into your mouth. You chew slowly to give yourself more time to sort out the words in your head.
"I just find these sorts of things exhausting," you explain, "I hate figuring out what’s socially appropriate, you know, how much to drink, what jokes to make, when to laugh, what to say and not say."
"I hope ya don’t take this the wrong way, sweetheart, but your family sounds like a piece of work."
You laugh, and watch Joel’s eyes get all crinkly with amusement at your reaction.
"They’re alright," you say honestly, "they’re normal. I’m just sensitive."
"They put that idea in your head?"
That shuts you up. It’s just a quick remark from Joel, but it hits home, and the smile freezes on your face.
"Sorry," Joel says quietly, "I’m sorry, that wasn’t my place–"
"No, don’t worry," you say quickly, "you’re right. They’re still normal, though. Usual amount of uptight and judgmental, I guess."
Joel watches you, and it seems like he’s thinking about something. When he speaks, his words are almost tentative.
"You can stick to me, if you want to. You can…ask me if you want a second opinion on what’s socially appropriate."
Your stomach swirls. You swallow and nod.
"I think that might be a relief," you say honestly, and try hard to ignore the pull of want in your stomach.
"Alright," Joel says, and as if it’s an inside joke by now, you answer.
"Alright."
***
He does pick you up at nine on Friday. You parents seemed slightly surprised Joel is taking you to the hotel in his car, but when you asked your mother what the point of going with him was if he still spent most of his time alone, she seemed convinced. You aren’t sure why you felt the need to convince her of anything in the first place, but you try not to think about it, when your doorbell rings. You spent the night at your parents’ place for convenience instead of in your apartment, so that Joel doesn’t have to drive the extra couple of miles. Your father opens the door before you can, and pats Joel’s shoulder.
"So, you’re taking my little girl to the wedding," he says, holding up one finger in a mock-scolding. Joel laughs, but you wonder if it sounds slightly strained. He meets your eye and nods in greeting. You nod back.
"Do you have your suitcase?" your father asks.
"Yeah, it’s right here."
You go to grab it, but Joel is quicker.
"I got it," he mutters, and you try hard not to stare at his arms bulging under the weight, not in front of your father.
"Careful, Miller, don’t be too much of a gentleman, or none of her collage boys will stand a chance," your Dad jokes.
"Oh, I won’t be," Joel drawls. You turn towards the door to hide your blush – you’re sure Joel didn’t mean anything by that comment, but that flutter in your stomach is stronger than ever, and you almost clench your thighs together. Joel doesn’t seem to notice anything, just carries your suitcase to the door.
"See you there, Dad," you say, "where’s Mom?"
"Rearranging the snack box," your Dad answers, "I’ll tell her you said bye. See you there kid, don’t let Joel drive like a lunatic."
Joel is about to quip something back, but you practically shove him out the door, your fingers digging into his biceps. He can barely tell your father goodbye before you close the door behind the two of you.
"Rearranging the snack box," you groan, "they’re so…so…so not chill."
Joel chuckles.
"I ain’t got a snack box, I thought we could make a stop at Burger King or somethin’."
"Finally," you answer, and open the trunk of his car so he can put your suitcase inside, "a man with sense."
***
"So, what do I gotta know about your family? Anyone I should avoid?"
You grin and turn up the radio a little.
"Don’t bring up vaccines with aunt Ingrid, in fact, just don’t bring them up at all. Steer clear of politics, unless you’re pro-life and think gay people shouldn’t get too close to kids, but if that is the case, steer clear of me."
Joel laughs.
"Got nothin’ to worry about, sweetheart. No politics or human rights, got it."
"Don’t ask uncle Jules if he has children. He does, but it’s…complicated."
"Who’s uncle Jules again?"
"My Dad’s brother. Bald guy with a beard. Don’t call him uncle, though."
"No callin’ people uncle, no questions about family, or politics. Geez, I’ll have to think of some conversation starter."
You chuckle and suddenly feel ridiculous for making such a fuss about attending a family wedding, when Joel is going to have to navigate dozens of people he’s never met before.
"I think showing up there with me as your date might be the starter for most conversations you’ll have," you say, not quite managing to keep the amusement out of your voice.
Joel clears his throat.
"Right, well, I’m sorta hopin’ they won’t dwell on that too much so as to not make things awkward."
"Oh, they’ll make things awkward," you answer, amusement evident in your voice, "but honestly, I think that’ll be the fun part. I wonder if aunt Susie will hit on you, she hits on everybody’s spouses."
Joel shoots you a glance.
"You were worried enough about a dress to consider not goin’ at all, but showin’ up with your Dad’s friend is the fun part?"
You admit, when he puts it like that, it sounds illogical.
"Those are two different things, though. They’ll judge my dress regardless of what I wear, I guarantee you someone will make a comment about it. If you hadn’t helped me, I’dve spent the night wondering if I should’ve gone with a different one."
"You don’t don’t think you should have gone with a different…date?"
You glance over at him.
"No," you say earnestly, "it was never a question of who to go with. I wasn’t gonna go with anyone else, had you said no."
"Right," Joel says, and changes lanes.
You’re quiet for a while, watching the scenery outside your window, but Joel seems to keep thinking about what you said.
"Why does it bother you so much? Whether they like your dress or not?"
You sigh, and he looks over at you briefly.
"You don’t gotta tell me, sweetheart, I was just wonderin’."
You pick at your fingernail.
"No, it’s alright. I guess I just…dislike not living up to expectations. I can deal with it if things are out of my hands, you know, but if my family is questioning my choices, I start to question them myself. It’s the difference between…being late because my flight was cancelled, and being late because I overslept. If it’s out of my control, it’s fine."
Joel hums, and it’s quiet again in his car. The radio is playing Mother’s Little Helper softly in the background.
"I think you’ve made solid choices," Joel says after a moment, "You don’t gotta…doubt yourself so much. I always got the feelin’ you knew what’s right for you, except for those boys I watched climb up and down your drainpipe at night."
You blush at the mention of your teenage hookups, but Joel chuckles. His words mean something to you, though you’re not sure how to tell him.
"Yeah, well, I’m good at overthinking," you say quietly, and Joel hums.
"Cause you’re smart. Dumb people don’t question themselves."
You smile.
"Thanks, Miller."
Joel switches lanes again, and nods.
"I mean it, kid, you’re doin’ just fine. ’N if you need help at the wedding, you come to me and ask for it."
"Alright," you say softly.
***
When you arrive, there is a blur of hugs and kisses and half-shouted greetings between aunts and nephews, cousins and grandmothers, fathers and sisters. Your family isn’t necessarily big, but they’re loud and restless, so you feel relieved when your parents pull you and Joel to the side right after you step out of the car.
"What took you so long?", you Dad asks, but keeps talking before you can tell him about the Burger King break due to a lack of a snack boxes in Joel’s car. "Anyway, we’ve got a problem. They didn’t know you guys aren’t really dating, so they gave you a double room instead of two single ones. We shouldn’t have put your names down together on the attendance list for the wedding, but I was thinking Joel and I can take one room, and you and your mom the other one!"
He’s clearly pleased with how he solved this dilemma, and it takes everything in you not to grit your teeth. You love your mother very much, but living in a single room with her is sure to drive you completely mad.
"Oh no," Joel says, "I don’t wanna cause any trouble. There’s a motel down the street, I’ll just get a room–"
"No way," you answer immediately, momentarily forgetting your parents, "you’re my support at this thing. You’re like my therapy dog. If anyone sleeps at that crappy motel, it’s me."
Joel actually snorts.
"Right, like I’d let ya. Place looked way too sleazy. You’re sleeping in the hotel your cousin booked, end of discussion."
"Fine," you answer, narrowing your eyes, "but so are you. You’re a guest, and I’m a good fucking host."
You hold his gaze, even when he shakes his head in something close to annoyance.
"You’re not the host, you’re a guest yourself. And anyway, it isn’t socially appropriate to decline someone who’s offerin’."
He’s telling you to give in, let him make the decision for you. In any other situation, that thought would get you all tingly.
"Well, I’m offering to share with you, so don’t decline," you say, crossing your arms in front of your body. It feels a little childish.
"Alright," Joel grumbles, sounding defeated, and looks at your father. "Your kid’s a piece of work."
Your parents watched your discussion quietly, and you can see mild distaste on their faces at how you talked to their friend, but for some reason it makes you want to grin. Usually it stresses you out when your parents aren’t satisfied with your behavior, but in this case it fills you with a strangely giddy feeling – if only they knew the sort of things you tell Joel about your family. It would turn those frowns into shouts.
"I’m sure we’ll find a solu–"
Joel’s quicker than your father, and waves him off with an easy hand.
"Ah it’s alright. Piece of work, but good company."
There’s an amused glint in his eyes and you frown at him, half contemplating kicking his shin.
"I’m a piece of work? You’re the one who–"
Your mother’s eyebrows furrow and you fall quiet. For some reason you don’t want to let on just how close you and Joel are these days. You don’t want your parents to see Joel doesn’t mind your bickering, that he does it, too, that it’s not harshness, but barely disguised tenderness underneath the irony. Joel’s eyes are on your face, but you don’t look at him.
"It’s only two nights anyway," you grumble, and Joel nods.
"That’s settled, then. I’ll get the suitcases."
***
You’re rooming with Joel Miller. For some reason you didn’t fully consider what that entailed while you were arguing about it with him – you’ll share a bathroom, possibly a bed. A blanket. You understand your mother’s frown now, it’s certainly strange for you and Joel to be so fine with this situation. You make a mental note to mention only doing this so Joel isn’t lonely to your mother.
"You sure you don’t mind?" Joel asks you when you step into the elevator – your room is on the third floor.
"Depends. Do you snore?"
Joel doesn’t answer, but after a second he shakes his head, though more to himself than as an answer to your question.
"If you’re uncomfortable with this, I really don’t mind staying at that motel," he continues, and you watch him play with the little button on the handle of his suitcase.
"I’m not uncomfortable," you answer, "are you?"
"No."
You don’t know what else to say, so you fall quiet again. Joel seems oddly conflicted, but you don’t blame him, he surely noticed your mother’s expression when you decided to share the room.
When you get there, Joel opens the door, lets you step in first, and you hoist your suitcase inside. It’s a light room, airy curtains, a big double bed that looks cozy. You’re relieved to see it’s big enough for things not to get awkward between Joel and you, and thankfully, there’s two blankets and pillows.
"Which side do you want?"
Joel’s voice is kind, like he really wants you to pick, and you smile.
"Window," you say, the decision coming easily for once. You didn’t consider which side Joel would prefer and picked the other one, you just chose the one you wanted because you were able to hear in Joel’s voice it’s what he wanted you to do.
"I’m gonna change and then I’ll have to say hi to my family," you say, and don’t manage to keep the annoyed tone out of your voice completely. Joel plops down on his side of the bed with a quiet grunt, and watches you.
"You’re not looking forward to the smalltalk," he says in that way of his that is less question and more statement. It spares you from having to answer, but you still sigh.
"No, not really. They’ll ask a million questions about my degree, it’s like nothing else interests them."
Joel’s eyes are still on you, as you open your suitcase and pull out different shirts and pairs of jeans, suddenly realizing you brought too many options.
"Wear that one," Joel says when you hold up and consider a shortsleeved blouse with a flowery pattern, "looks real pretty."
You take the blouse and grab your favorite jeans to change into, glad to finally change out of your sweatpants after the long drive.
"I’ll deflect the conversation when they start talking about your degree," Joel says, crossing his arms, "I’ll mention my age or somethin’."
It makes you laugh, because the idea is so absurd – that talking about your fifty-something year old date would be more comfortable than talking about university.
"Thanks," you say genuinely, "you’ll be the topic of conversation, by the way. Hope you don’t mind gossip."
Joel smiles an easy smile and shrugs.
"Ah, you heard your mother, I’m a loner. Gossip don’t affect me."
You know he’s not being honest – with his connection to the groom, any gossip about his controversially young date is sure to reach his colleagues’ ears, but you’re grateful for his support in this. He’s risking his own reputation just to make this event less dreadful for you. You smile at him, and slip into the bathroom to change.
***
You can see your family from a distance, sitting on some sort of terrace, and you can tell some of them are looking over at you, assessing yours and Joel’s form already. You groan, and tuck your blouse into your waistband.
"Don’t worry," Joel says quietly, "you look great. ’N I picked the blouse anyway, so it’s on me."
You nod, and Joel nudges your shoulder with his softly.
"Cheer up, kid. Won’t be awkward, I got you."
You believe him. You trust Joel to handle the smalltalk with your own family, which should make you feel pathetic and childish and weak, but it’s so easy to let him take the reins. He leads you over to them with a gentle hand on the small of your back and a polite smile on his lips.
"Hey guys," you say, waving awkwardly when you’ve reached the terrace, "this is Joel."
You’ve got to hand it to your family, they’re being polite. You can see their eyes move over Joel’s crowsfeet, his hand on your waist, his flannel shirt, and for a second you feel nervous, but Joel seems so at ease, the judgement pearling off of him like drops of water.
You hug people, Joel shakes hands, says hello in that gruffly charming manner of his, there’s names being exchanged, and during all of it he doesn’t leave your side. He keeps his left hand on your back, lets you know he’s there for you. It feels like a secret somehow, even though it’s not – but you’re tricking your family, and they have no idea what your relationship to Joel is really rooted in. They look at the two of you and see something intimate, sure, but they’ve got it all wrong. It’s intimate in a different way.
"So what do you do, Joel?" one of your aunts asks him, when you’ve sat down – Joel pulling out your chair for you.
"I’m a contractor," he says, and throws his arm around your shoulders. You want to grin when you watch a dozen pairs of eyes follow the movement. Under the table, you nudge Joel’s foot with your own and you swear the corner of his mouth twitches.
They ask him more questions, the sort of superficial things most people think will conjure up an accurate image of the person they’re asking, and you’re more than amused by how Joel deflects them easily with that southern charm, but without backing down. The entire time, his thumb draws circles on your shoulder. You welcome the touch – you know it’s partly to keep up the show of dating you, but nevertheless it’s soothing, real or not. You wonder what Joel gets out of this charade – you get to fool the people who regularly make you feel inferior, you get to have some sort of entertainment at an otherwise boring event, but Joel doesn’t. He seems at ease, though, talking to your uncle about his business, fingers toying with the collar of your blouse at the nape of your neck.
"And how did you two meet?"
Your aunt’s question is sickly sweet, her judgment barely disguised. Her outrage makes you want to laugh and yell at the same time, because it’s not your well-being she’s concerned with, it’s etiquette.
"Oh, I’m friends with her parents," Joel says easily, "known each other ages."
It takes everything in you not to snort at the way your aunts eyes widen, and you’re sure Joel’s cough is really a well disguised laugh.
"Yeah," you say once you’re sure you’ll be able to control your voice, "he taught me how to drive when I was sixteen."
After that, someone hastily changes the topic, and when no one is looking, you throw Joel a grin. He winks at you, and doesn’t take his arm off your shoulder when you lean a little closer to him.
***
"You guys going to the beach, or the city?"
Your father smiles at you, squinting against the sun, backpack already slung over his shoulder – your parents are clearly doing the latter. There’s still time before dinner, and your family decided to split into two groups – you’re not sure which one to join. You look up at Joel, and your eyes meet. He holds your gaze for two seconds, and you don’t need to say anything.
"The beach," Joel decides, looking at your father again. "Could both use a bit of nature after that drive."
You say goodbye to your parents and are grateful for the few moments alone with Joel before joining the others for a walk down the beach. It’s what you would have picked, if you had to, but Joel didn’t need you to pick. Just like with your blouse and dress, he made the decision for you, and even though they’re completely mundane choices, it seems to lift a weight off your shoulders. You can just exist around Joel.
"That okay with you?" he asks you now, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
"Yeah," you answer, "anything you pick’s okay with me."
It’s more honest than you necessarily wanted it to be, but you find it hard to care when Joel seems so tuned into you. He watches you, and nods.
"Do you think that’s strange?" you ask, all of a sudden worried he finds your need for a lack of autonomy revolting, or pitiful. Joel’s eyes are glued to yours, when you look up at him.
"No," he says softly, "I think you’ve been made to question yourself way too much. Creates stress and pressure I’ll gladly take away if I can."
There’s no judgement in his voice, just acknowledgement. You look at your shoes, then back at him again. You aren’t sure what to answer – you know it’s a strange conversation to be having with your parents’ friend. Before you can answer, Joel does it for you.
"Look, don’t overthink it. This weekend you don’t gotta worry about anythin’, alright? I’m takin’ the reins."
You probably shouldn’t find it as easy to accept this as you do, but then again you probably shouldn’t have brought a man more than twice your age to a family wedding, so you might as well go all in. Joel’s taking the strain. You can just nod and go along with it. For the first time in a long time, you feel oddly silent. Steady.
***
The beach is beautiful and you and Joel take off your shoes and socks to walk barefoot along the water. The steady sound of the waves and the salt in the air makes you feel calm. Your family is close by, walking in little groups, chatting and laughing. You’re enjoying just walking quietly with Joel, but after your conversation with him, you really wouldn’t mind talking to your family either – Joel understood what you were trying to tell him, and offered to take your worries and doubts away from you. There’s no responsibility weighing heavily on your shoulders, and suddenly it seems easy to show your religious aunts your tattoos, and even defend the degree you chose. Joel’s got your back. He’s got your choices, your decisions.
"You’re quiet," Joel tells you over the sound of the wind. You watch it mess up his hair.
"I feel quiet," you say, "in a good way."
Joel hums, and you’re reminded he’s a man of few words, too.
"What you said," you start, voice uncertain, "about them making me question myself. It’s not…they don’t mean any harm."
You watch your toes dig into the wet sand as you walk, soft, cold waves rolling over them in a steady rhythm.
"Yeah, no-one ever does."
You glance at Joel and back at your feet again.
"It’s just…I know I’ve been talking shit about them a lot, but I don’t want you to think they’re bad people or something."
Joel’s eyes are trained on a seagull landing on the sand close by when he answers.
"I don’t think that, I don’t even know ’em. Your parents are good people, and from what I’ve seen, they’re good parents, too."
You nod.
"Still, even if something is well-intentioned, doesn’t mean it can’t have negative repercussions."
You frown, thinking about his words, and Joel sighs.
"I don’t wanna criticize your folks, God knows I’ve made mistakes with Sarah. But I see you constantly tryin’, you know, always workin’ to please them. Even if it comes from a place of wantin’ the best for their kid, I don’t think it should be like that. Parents should be workin’ to make their kids proud, not the other way around."
His words punch the air from your lungs – his assessment of your relationship to your parents so perplexingly correct, you don’t know what to say. And then his immediate acknowledgment of what you feel in your heart, and don’t have the nerve or guts to voice. You feel your eyes begin to prick, and it’s not the sand or the salt. You swallow hard, feel Joel’s eyes on you.
"Hey now," he mutters, noticing your tears, "I didn’t mean to make that happen, darlin’."
The pet name seems to rip something open inside of you, and your tears start to spill silently, your face unmoving. Joel reaches out for your tentatively – the lines between what’s acceptable have blurred. It’s okay for him to put his arm around you to make fools of your family, but this feels different. You decide you don’t care anymore – you want to feel his warm body against your side, you want him to wipe the tears from your cheeks with his huge palms, you want to hear his voice whisper in your ear. Something about Joel Miller soothes an ache inside of you you didn’t even realize needed soothing at all, but now that you’re aware of it, you can’t help but give in completely.
His gentle palm on your arm is all you need, a clumsy but warm gesture of comfort, and you lean against him, your face against his collarbone. You know your family can see you, they’re close by, walking ahead or behind the two of you. You find you don’t mind – if anything, this will fuel the hoax of the two of you being together even more.
Joel is hesitant at first, but your tears seep into his pullover, and when you inhale shakily, he starts to stroke your back. You hear the sea, Joel’s heartbeat, someone laughing and screaming, possibly your cousins.
"I’m sorry kid," Joel says and rests his chin on the top of your head, "it’s alright. You’re alright."
"S-sorry," you mutter, wiping your eyes with your sleeve.
"Don’t gotta apologize. Did I hit a nerve?"
"Yeah," you answer quietly, not stepping back from Joel, just resting your face against his chest. You’ll take what he’s willing to give you, for as long as he is.
"I like it when you choose for me," you whisper after a minute. Although you’ve talked about it before, it feels different to admit this pressed against Joel’s big, warm body. "I really like it."
You feel Joel inhale and sigh, his hand still patting your back softly.
"I know, darlin’. I know."
"It’s weird."
"It’s unusual."
"You’re not, like…grossed out by me?"
Joel holds you a little more tightly.
"No, of course I’m not. Jesus, no. Why would you think that?"
You shrug, and Joel brushes the back of your head with his hand.
"You want me to make your decisions for you this weekend?"
He has been hinting towards that, inching closer to the realization, but he hadn’t put it quite that way before, and you feel something in your belly stir at the directness of his words.
"Yes," you whisper, "please."
You feel him nod, but he doesn’t say anything for a couple of seconds.
"I gotta know what that entails, kid. We gotta…have a conversation about this."
You don’t want to do that – you haven’t had to explain yourself to Joel this plainly before, he always seemed to just get it, even the things you don’t say.
"Tell me what that means to you," Joel asks you gently. It’s not phrased as a question – already he’s doing it so perfectly, not giving you the choice to decline answering, but deciding you will. It’s easy, this way. You inhale again, and close your eyes for your confession.
"I…I just…I want someone to tell me what to wear every morning. I want someone to tell me what to eat, what to like, what to hate, what to rage about. What to listen to, what band to like. What to buy tickets for. What to joke about, what to not joke about. I want someone to tell me what to believe in. Who to vote for and…and who to love and how to tell them. I think I just want someone to tell me how to live my life, Joel, because so far…I think I've been getting it wrong."
He’s quiet, and you think you’ve said too much, made it too weird, and for a split second you feel like running, but then Joel looks down at you, and brushes one stray tear away with his thumb.
"I want you to put on your socks and shoes, again," he says softly, and you feel relief wash over you in synch with the waves. "Can you do that for me?"
You nod, and bend down to get your socks, all the while feeling Joel’s eyes on you.
"Good," he says when you’re done, and gives you a small smile. Your head feels blissfully empty.
***
You catch up with your parents and the rest of your family before dinner, where they hover awkwardly just outside of the doors to the dining room in an old, renovated stable.
Joel keeps his steady hand on your waist, a sign of belonging to your distant family, inconspicuous to your parents, and a clear gesture of comfort to you. He looks handsome in his dark jeans and dark green knit pullover. You’re used to him wearing flip-flops and a grease-stained black tee, gardenhose in hand, but he cleans up nice. You feel your family’s eyes on the two of you as you approach and lean into Joel’s touch a little more.
"Heya," your Dad says with a smile, and immediately shows Joel a book he got in the city, something about cars you can’t be bothered to look at for longer than two seconds. Joel seems interested, though, and when you move to talk to one of your aunts, the hand on your waist tightens. You could easily go anyway, but his touch makes it clear he doesn’t want you to, so you stay, letting the car-talk wash over you, oddly at peace with everything. Joel throws you one look and his thumb starts tracing circles on your waist. It feels like a reward for doing as he said, and the thought makes you feel light-headed.
Eventually you all make your way to the dinner table, and Joel pulls out your chair for you, not sitting down until you’re seated. It makes your stomach flutter, and you can see your aunt watching him, apparently having noticed his good manners, too.
You flip open a menu, trying to decide on a drink – you’re not sure if it might not be too risky to start drinking alcohol this early in the evening, your tongue might become a little too lose, especially among this group. You look over at Joel, and when he notices, he subtly points to Cherry Coke on his own menu, tapping the word once, and you think he must remember you drinking the sticky-sweet stuff all summer as a teen. You give a small nod, to show him you understand, and flip the pages of your menu to look at the food.
"The salmon is supposed to be delicious," your mother is telling your father. She turns to Joel and you, and smiles.
"What are you two having?"
Before you can open your mouth, Joel closes his menu.
"The lamb chops," he answers simply, and when your eyes meet, it punches the air from your lungs. He looks proud, satisfied, like nothing pleases him more than to see you do as he says.
"Yeah," you say quietly, "lamb chops."
***
Dinner is perfectly nice, the lamb chops and your cherry coke are delicious, though you switch to wine after Joel asks you if you prefer red or white and then orders a glass for each of you. From time to time, he brushes your back with his hand when your parents aren’t looking, and even though you don’t get a minute to talk just between the two of you, you can tell he’s making an effort to be present and attentive.
Your younger cousins leave the table to play outside after a while, and you wish you had a few your own age to raid the bar with, as Joel seems to be stuck in a conversation about contracting with your uncle. You drain the last of your wine, your foot tapping rhythmically against the table leg, and you suddenly feel a hand just above your knee, effectively stopping your movement. Joel’s palm is huge as it burns a warm imprint into your skin, squeezing your leg slightly. It’s like a quiet acknowledgment of your restlessness, and enough for you to feel an odd calm wash over you. Joel seems to have realized you want to go to bed, or at least to leave the table and these boring, useless conversations. He also holds the power to decide whether you will or not, so you don’t have to worry about being rude at all. The ball is entirely in his court. You sigh in strange contentment and Joel’s thumb starts moving as a response, his eyes glued to your uncle’s face, nodding and answering whenever it’s appropriate.
After around a quarter of an hour, their conversation seems to fizzle out, and Joel glances down the table. Half the people have left, either to put the kids to bed, or to rest themselves after a long day of traveling. Joel’s eyes meet yours, warm and piercing, and he gets up from his chair, hand slipping from your thigh. Your uncle is talking to your parents now, and Joel waits a beat so as not to interrupt them.
"We’re goin’ to bed," he says when there’s a pause in their conversation, and you nod, getting up, too.
"Already?"
Your Dad sounds surprised.
"It’s eleven," you say, stifling a yawn, "and God knows Joel could use a bit of beauty sleep."
He scoffs and you grin, which makes your father chuckle and shake his head.
"Don’t let her give you hell, Miller. We can still switch rooms if this little union has turned sour."
It’s clearly a joke, but the idea of sleeping in a different room than Joel is distinctly unpleasant all of a sudden, so you chuckle.
"Don’t worry, Dad, still sickly sweet."
You hug your parents goodnight, and Joel promises your uncle to continue their talk the day after, and then, finally, he’s leading you back outside and towards the actual hotel building. His hand is a ghost on the small of your back, not quite touching, but guiding. You breathe in the cool evening air as you step outside and sigh. The change in temperature is more than welcome after the noise and buzz in your head.
"Alright?" Joel asks, voice quiet.
"Yes," you say, and suddenly feel shy about the decisions he made for you throughout the evening. "Sorry about…you don’t have to…I mean, I can just pick my own drinks and food tomorrow."
Joel is quiet for a second, but his hand doesn’t leave your back.
"Was it too much?"
You don’t answer, don’t know how to tell him it was perfect and not enough at the same time, that his hand seems to be burning a whole into the fabric of your blouse, that you want him to decide to take it off of you.
"Jesus," Joel says, interpreting your silence as confirmation, "I’m sorry, kid, I thought it’s what you asked me to do back at the beach, but if I got that wrong, I’m rea-"
"You didn’t," you say quietly, voice cracking on the last word a little. "Don’t apologize, please. Don’t make this into something…weird or, I don’t know, something to feel guilty about."
Joel falls quiet.
"I hate feeling guilty," you add after a stretch of silence. You can feel Joel looking at you.
"You don’t gotta," he says, shaking his head when you shrug, "no, sweetheart, I mean it. I’m tellin’ ya not to feel guilty."
You shudder, you can’t help it – Joel’s tone has an air of finality you can’t resist. As if Joel pressed a button, you feel the emotion seep out of you. He’s still watching you, and you feel your cheeks burn up. You know it’s a little sick, a little depraved and twisted to want Joel to act like this.
"You know," Joel says suddenly, "when Sarah was ten, you two begged your Dad and me to take you to buy you these headbands you wouldn’t shut up about. They had them in purple and green. Sarah chose the green one, but you just couldn’t decide, you stood in front of that damn shelf for half an hour, until your Dad said he wouldn’t get either if you didn’t pick one."
You don’t remember the shop, but you do remember crying on the way home, Sarah petting your arm and lending you her headband the next day.
"Your Dad didn’t mean bad," Joel continues, "probably thought it was a valuable lesson, but you just needed someone to tell you purple suits you, or green goes with your shoes, or whatever."
You’re still quiet, walking beside Joel in the dark, not quite believing he noticed and cared enough to remember such an innocent incident years later. After a while, you swallow.
"I don’t remember buying that headband," you say softly, "or…not buying it, I guess."
"Why was it so hard for you?" Joel asks, voice sincere "to pick one, I mean."
"I…I’m not sure," you answer, not looking at him, but at your feet moving over the cobblestones. "I think I…I think I learned pretty early on a wrong decision could make people angry or disappointed. By not making one at all I just…disappointed myself, you know? Turning the reaction inward, or something."
Joel hums, and contemplates your words for a while.
"Your Dad, does he…did he…if you’d picked the wrong color, would he have gotten angry?"
You glance up at him, see a slight frown on his face, his muscles pulled tight, and you understand what he’s asking.
"No," you say softly, "no, it’s not like that."
Joel visibly relaxes and nods.
"Sorry," he says with an exhale, "didn’t think it was, but geez, that’d you’d be worried about his reaction to the goddamn color of a headband…"
You sigh.
"I don’t know why I’m like this," you say so quietly, you’re not sure Joel hears, but his hand on your back squeezes slightly, an unconscious gesture of comfort. "I wanna please everyone all of the fucking time. It’s pathetic."
"It’s not pathetic, it’s empathetic," Joel argues, and you frown.
"I got no backbone," you say softly, saying out loud the worst you think about yourself to another person for the first time. "I’m a pushover and a narcissist who can’t handle anyone not liking them, as if I’m the centre of the fucking universe."
Joel stops walking, you sigh almost petulantly, and before you can keep walking, Joel’s hand catches your arm.
"Stop," he says, and without thinking about it, you do. He’s frowning, dark eyebrows pulled tight and casting a harsh shadow over his face.
"I don’t want ya sayin’ shit like that," he tells you, "don’t want ya thinkin’ it either, for that matter."
You don’t know what to answer, except that you do, so you just stare at him.
"Were you a pushover when you argued with me until your parents were pissed, just so I wouldn’t sleep in that shithole motel down the road?"
You look at your hands, and pick at your cuticle.
"Answer me, sweetheart," Joel says, and you can hear the order in his voice.
"That was different, it didn’t have anything to do with me," you say, and Joel shakes his head, as if in exasperation.
"Course it didn’t, it was completely selfless. Just like you don’t want to upset your grandma when she sees that little tattoo of yours, or your parents when you pick a career they don’t like. You’re too goddamn nice for your own good. Too empathetic."
You can feel his gaze glued to your face, but you keep staring at your thumbnail, until Joel sighs again.
"You think a narcissist would have worried about your dress stealin’ your cousin’s show?"
You shrug, aware what Joel wants you to say, but unable to do it.
"You think a narcissist would have sprinted across that shop to stop me buyin’ it for ya?"
"I’m still mad at you because of that," you say softly, and despite himself, Joel’s mouth softens into a smile.
"A narcissist," he repeats, voice dripping with irony, "and I’m the fuckin’ tooth fairy."
"Even if you’re right," you say finally, "I don’t think you can separate concepts like that, you know, egoism and altruism. It’s like, if you donate money, do you ever truly do it to help, or do you do it because you like thinking of yourself as someone who helps?"
"You’re overthinkin’ this, sweetheart. It ain’t philosophy. You had an occasion to buy a pretty dress, and considered your cousins’s feelings – that’s kind. You’re…you’re good."
For some reason that makes you swallow, your throat thick. Good. You don’t think of yourself as a bad person per se, but sometimes being kind does feel like making amends. Joel thinks you’re good. He called you empathetic, nice, got angry when you disagreed. Your chest feels a little warm.
"You can’t see inside my head, Miller," you say, finally meeting his eyes, as he’s towering over you. "You don’t know my intentions."
"You’re not as mysterious as you think, kid," Joel answers gruffly, "why are you so adamant about makin’ yourself into some kind of super villain?"
"I’m not," you answer, cheeks flushing, "I just…"
"Just what?"
You shrug, don’t know yourself what you were going to say, and Joel raises his eyebrows.
"You’re a good girl, a really good person, you always were. So kind to Sarah when you were kids, and now that she’s in Boston, you’re kind to me, just so I’m not lonely."
"Ah," you answer, face heating up, "that. Well, to tell you the truth, Joel, this is one of those times where altruism and egotism are…congruent."
Joel stares at you, and your stomach flutters.
"That so?" he asks quietly, unmoving and still staring at your face. Your neck grows hot, and images of him telling your father what you said rush through your head, of him being uncomfortable, of him seeing you as a substitute daughter and being freaked out by your attachment to him. You swallow, don’t answer, look at your hand again. Suddenly there’s a finger on your chin, and Joel’s lifting your face back up to meet his eyes.
"I’m not makin’ that decision for you, sweetheart," he says, face serious, but a with hint of something in his voice that wasn’t there before. "You ask for it yourself, or you don’t."
His warm hand lingers on your chin for just a second longer, and then he crosses his arms in front of his body. You two continue walking, as if you’re not headed to sleep in the same bed, as if Joel didn’t put his skin to yours in a way that felt new.
***
You’re slightly embarrassed when you’ve changed into your pajamas, which consist of an old pair of pink shorts, and a Micky mouse shirt much too big for you. When you leave the bathroom, Joel is lying on his side of the bed, arms crossed behind his head, a grin spreading across his face when he sees your outfit.
"Nice," he says, and you feel your cheeks heat up.
"Well, I didn’t know I’d be sharing my bed, did I?"
Your voice is close to irritated, but for some reason it makes Joel’s smile widen, and you scoff.
"Unless you’ve got silk pajamas packed, your humor is misplaced."
You walk over to your suitcase and get out your face cream. Joel keeps watching you and seems to have no intention of brushing his teeth any time soon.
"I like it," he says after a beat, and your eyes shoot up to meet his, your knees still pressed into the carpet next to your suitcase. "Suits ya. That blouse is real pretty, but you were tuggin’ on it all evening."
"Yeah, well," you mutter, rubbing the cream into your skin, "I got it for occasions like this one, cause it’s modest."
"Your Micky Mouse shirt is pretty modest," Joel answers, mouth still twitching, "should wear that tomorrow in case you have second thoughts about your dress."
You snort and look down. Micky’s face is all wrinkled, the print faded from how often you’ve washed it.
"I want you to wear something you like tomorrow," Joel says quietly, and you look up. He’s still watching you, voice steady. "Before the ceremony, I mean. Wear somethin’ that feels like you."
It’s a decision he’s making for you, and you swallow.
"Okay," you answer, voice cracking on the last letter. Joel nods.
"Good."
Joel gets up to brush his teeth and change, and you get comfortable with your book while you’re waiting. You know it should feel awkward, being with him like this, but even though your stomach gives a pleasant leap whenever you think about the man in the bathroom, you’re not nervous. Yes, you’re sleeping in the same bed as Joel, but the conversions you’ve had ever since you asked him to take you to this wedding feel much more intimate than this physical closeness.
When he slides under the covers next to you, smelling of three-in-one shower gel and toothpaste, you turn around to face him, one cheek smushed against your pillow, something in your stomach tugging.
Joel turns his head to look at you, and smiles.
"Comfy?"
"Yeah."
"This ain’t too weird for ya?"
"No," you say, "not too weird."
Joel nods, and takes a gulp from the glass of water on his nightstand. You watch him slide his reading glasses away from the edge, so that they won’t fall to the ground during the night, and think of how he got you the dress you wanted, how each nudge and decision he made for you was always in your favor, always meant to give you pleasure or make things easier for you.
"Joel?"
"Hm?"
"Why do you enjoy…I mean why aren’t you you freaked out by…making my decisions for me and, you know, picking my clothes and food and all that?"
Joel is quiet for a moment, and you wonder if you shouldn’t have asked him that, but then he sighs, and looks at you again.
"When I took you dress shoppin’, you looked at those dresses the way you looked at the headbands when you were a kid," he begins to explain, "I don’t care about the dress, sweetheart. But I could tell you’dve gone with one you thought everyone else was gonna like, and it wouldn’t have been the one you wanted. So I helped you pick it, just like I should’ve helped you pick a headband."
Joel’s eyes are warm and understanding when you swallow, and for a second, he lifts his arm as if to reach out to you, but then he drops it onto the covers. You want him to pull you towards him the way he did at the beach, but you know it would mean something else here, alone in a bed.
"I don’t tell people what I told you," you say quietly, "about my family, and my indecisiveness."
Joel watches you with an unreadable expression.
"Whatever you wanna tell me," he says gently, "is safe with me."
You take Joel Miller by his word, when you lean towards him, shuffling close to him, until you can feel the heat of his body through both your blankets, and you can see the hesitation in his warm eyes. You trust he’s telling the truth about keeping your secrets, when you arch your back so your lips reach his, and you brush your mouth against his, his beard tickling your skin. It’s soft, and a little clumsy, until your lips part, the fire in your stomach catching, and Joel lets out a groan right into your mouth.
Finally, he kisses you back, warm lips coaxing yours, his big hands coming to rest on your upper arms, and tugging your body towards his. It’s exhilarating to feel how strong he is, to hear his gruff voice not in words but in little sounds of desire for you. Before you can press your hips to his in a reckless moment of need, Joel breaks the kiss, and your eyes open. His pupils are dilated, his mouth is red and shiny with a mixture of both your saliva.
"Jesus," he says quietly, hands still on your arms, "Jesus, kiddo."
You feel nervous, but as so often, the decision lies with Joel, and that makes everything easier. You were honest with him, stripped yourself bare, right down to the skeleton of your want for him and all of the depraved thoughts you have, and now Joel can do with that what he wants – you’ve offered him all you have to offer and feel your limbs relax at that thought. Joel’s thumb starts drawing its familiar circles, his eyes glued to your face.
"I think we should sleep on this," he says after what feels like a long time, "but, God, I wish I didn’t."
The corners of your lips pull up into a smile.
"It’s your choice," you say, and watch Joel swallow – you think this might be affecting him just as much as you.
"You shouldn’t give me that much power, sweetheart," he breathes, and brushes a strand of hair behind your ear. "Gonna make me go mad with it."
You lean into his palm, which is now cupping your face, and Joel sighs.
"Go to sleep now," he mutters, and the disappointment is dulled by the pleasure of doing as he says. Instead of moving over to your own side of the bed, you rest your head on Joel’s chest, and after a sharp inhale, he drapes his arms over you, pulling you against him and holding you securely.
"Good," he whispers into your ear, making you shudder, and you're almost certain you hear Joel chuckle softly above you.
***
You wake at night, Joel’s arms still wrapped around you, though limp with sleep now. He’s breathing deeply, his chest rising and falling under you as if you weigh nothing, as if you haven’t been lying on top of him for hours. You feel a little bad for crushing him like this, and move away slightly to lay down right next to him, but his arms tighten around you as soon as you pull away, and he keeps you locked in his iron grip, still unconscious, his eyes closed. You can smell his aftershave with your face resting high on his chest, can hear his heartbeat and the air rushing in and out of his lungs. His arms are like a cage around your body, and instead of waking him up, you give in, closing your eyes again, one of your legs sliding between Joel’s. You feel something in your stomach ache pleasantly, but you’re too tired to examine the feeling, just let Joel’s steady breathing and scent lull you into darkness again.
***
The sun pours into the room like honey when you open your eyes again, this time alone in the big bed. You can hear water running in the bathroom, then a quiet cough. Joel Miller is getting ready after holding you all night, even through his deep sleep. It’s a little hard to wrap your head around, so you just press your face into the pillow and inhale, smell his sweat and shower gel, his laundry detergent.
"Mornin’," Joel says quietly, and you turn around to face him. His hair is wet, and he’s wearing a simple black t-shirt and a pair of clean, black jeans. He looks excruciatingly attractive, all solid and masculine and warm.
"Morning."
"Sleep well?"
You nod, unsure of how to address the shift in dynamic between the two of you in the daylight.
"Did…you?"
Joel hums, still leaning against the bathroom door and watching you. Your eyes flicker towards his chest, and you think of the way it felt pressed against your face at night, how his arms wrapped around you so securely. You swallow, and Joel’s eyes track the movement.
"Do you…want to go have breakfast?" you ask timidly, your voice cracking.
Joel shakes his head, and you start picking at your thumb again. You’re not generally awkward around him, but nobody told you how to deal with a situation like this, with you father’s best friend after you kissed him.
"No, I wanna talk about last night," Joel says, and you can’t stop a little groan escaping your mouth.
"Joel, look, I don’t…I didn’t mean to…I was caught up because you understand me so well, and you smell so good, and I just…I acted on instinct, I didn’t think, and if I made you uncomfortable, I’m really really sorry."
Joel is so quiet, you’re afraid he’s going to yell at you, or walk out of the room and tell your father, but the feeling of his arms tightening around you keeps reappearing in your mind, so you push your worries aside. Joel didn’t have to hold you the way he did.
"Instinct, huh?"
You flush, and look at your hand.
"I…yeah."
"’S a hell of an instinct, sweetheart."
You sigh, and nod.
"I know."
"Your father’s goin’ to behead me with a dull axe if he finds out about this."
Despite yourself, a chuckle escapes you, and your stomach flips pleasantly. Joel runs a hand over his beard and walks over towards you, his hair still wet from his shower.
"He’s never been the dull axe type," you argue, "he’ll try to outsmart you with words, though."
Joel snorts, and for a second you feel bad about making fun of your father when Joel so clearly would have the upper hand in a fight, but then Joel cups your face in his massive palm and you stop thinking all together.
He hums thoughtfully, as if contemplating his options, his eyes drifting over your face, and you don’t dare say anything, scared of spooking him when he’s so close to finally giving into this weird tension.
"I’m not doin’ anything while we’re here," he finally says, and you sigh. The disappointment must show on your face, because Joel’s mouth twitches under his beard.
"Not while I’m a guest," he adds, "wouldn’t be right."
"You’re not a guest, you’re my date," you argue, Joel’s hand still cradling your face.
"Yes, the date your mother picked to distract me from the fact that my daughter moved across the country. Who is your age, by the way."
You know he’s saying it to stress the absurdity of the situation, the reason why he can’t kiss you again, but his words make your stomach flutter instead of deterring you.
"I’m not a kid," you mutter, realizing it’s the most childish thing you could have said.
"Jesus," Joel answers quietly, shaking his head. "We’re goin’ to have breakfast now, before I…"
And he lets go of you, steps back, runs his hand over his beard again in that nervous habit of his, and even though it feels like you somehow turned liquid in his hands, you manage to get up.
"You know, we could just skip breakfast," you suggest, "order room service. Nobody would miss us if we –"
"Get dressed," Joel interrupts, watching you with his jaw clenched tight.
***
It feels different, walking with Joel to meet your family for breakfast. He still puts that calming hand on the small of your back, you still tease him the same way you did before, but there is a new tension between you now, as if you’re each holding on to one end of a rubber band. You wonder if it’s going to snap.
"Mornin’," Joel says, smiling at your parents, and you try hard not to let it show on your face that you kissed their 50-something neighbor just last night. When your mother smiles at you, you’re sure it must be visible in your eyes, that any second now she will start yelling. But she just asks you how you slept, tells you how comfortable she finds the beds and that the water pressure of the showers is just perfect. You agree, indulge her in her good mood.
After a couple of minutes, you look towards your father, and find that Joel is staring at you, face carefully neutral in a way nobody else would notice. You give him a tentative smile, and his jaw clenches again, but his expression softens.
During breakfast, he doesn’t put his hand on your thigh like he did the night before, no matter how much you pathetically bounce it just to get his attention. He keeps talking to your uncle again, and you would feel hurt by how clearly he’s trying to maintain distance between the two of you, if you didn’t catch him looking at you whenever there’s a break in the conversation. You wish you were able to read his thoughts, then wonder if he thinks you’re pitiful, and are glad you can’t.
When you’re almost done with your coffee, a waiter comes over and asks everyone to pick something for dinner – meat, fish or a vegetarian option. Your parents start telling a story of the best fresh fish they ate last time they went on a holiday, as you open the little folded menu and read the options.
You can feel Joel’s eyes practically burning a hole in the side of your head, even thought his hands are carefully kept to himself. Then he lifts up his hand just slightly and points to the fish on his own menu, clearing his throat. Your stomach flips again – whatever it is you’re doing, he’s still willing to do it after you kissed him. You close the menu, and smile.
***
The day passes in a blur of playing with your little cousins, talking to various family members, helping with your cousin’s bridal makeup (mostly, you just hold the mirror, which you’re grateful for – too much pressure to actually apply anything on her big day). Joel keeps his distance, charms your family with that twinkle in his eyes, and keeps looking at you wherever you are.
When you’re pushing your little cousin on a set of swings, there he is, sitting on a hotel garden chair with one of your aunts and looking at pictures she’s showing him on her phone. He nods and smiles, seems to answer when appropriate, but you just know it’s boring him to death. Whenever your aunt looks down, his eyes find you, and you grin at him, giving him a thumbs up. He shakes his head just slightly to himself, but you can see his smile even from this distance. It makes you feel warm inside.
In the afternoon, everyone retreats to their rooms to get changed for the ceremony, and you feel your stomach jolt at the thought of finally seeing Joel in the suit he refused to put on for you before. You meet him at the front of the hotel, where he and several of the younger children are kicking a ball back and forth. They laugh when he cleverly dodges their little feet, and then kicks it through their legs. He laughs, too, ruffles their hair, lets them beat their little fists against his legs when he tricks them again.
"You like him."
It’s your aunt, and she caught you watching Joel, a subconscious smile on your face. You glance at her and look at your feet, then shrug.
"I thought it was some rebellious streak to drive your parents up the wall," she admits, and you snort at that, "but I guess you’ve never been the type to do that."
"No," you say softly.
"They don’t mind?"
You don’t want to lie to her directly – a conversation like this, one on one, feels way different than some vague excuses and stories when fifteen people ask where you met.
"I don’t think they know…how close we are."
Your aunt smiles and nods.
"Well, looks like they’ll have to get used to it. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you."
Her last words make your stomach flutter, but it’s the beginning of her sentence that makes you think. Your parents, having to arrange themselves with a choice you made for yourself, one they deem foolish or wrong or even immoral. The idea is almost preposterous – and thrilling. All these years, you were the clay holding your family together, molding yourself until you fit into all the little cracks and rotten cavities. Now it might be their time to soften and adjust, regardless of whether it’s because of Joel or not. You’re tired of being so shapeless.
When Joel spots you, he lets the kids score one more goal, one he could have easily saved, high fives them, and makes his way over to you with a smile on his face.
"Hello, coach," you say, as your aunt makes her way over to the children. "You’d better take a shower before you put on that suit."
He scoffs at you, but there’s that irresistible twinkle in his eyes again.
"You know, my aunt recons my parents could get used to…this."
"Jesus," Joel says and frowns. "I think they’d sooner tell you to join a biker gang."
"Maybe I should," you say, and Joel chuckles. "I’ll save that idea for the next family event. Funeral, maybe. Would be a talking point, wouldn’t it?"
"That what I am? A talking point?"
His voice is teasing, but you immediately regret your words – because he’s not. He got you the dress and he lets you talk about your family, and he doesn’t look at you any different for it.
"No," you say softly, looking up at him, "you’re not."
He doesn’t answer, but you think there is something like relief or satisfaction on his face, though he hides it well.
***
Getting ready with Joel feels weirdly domestic, but comfortable, as if you always share a space like that. He showers, puts on his slacks and a white shirt to wear under his dress shirt, then runs his hand through his hair and leaves it be. You’re glad, you like him best like this anyway.
While you apply your makeup, Joel watches you from the bed, the door to the bathroom wide open to let out the steam. For a moment you let yourself imagine a life in which you always share a bedroom, in which Joel Miller watches you get ready in the mornings, but you ban the thought from your mind, because it’s stupid and reckless and you can’t afford to fall for him.
"Y’look real pretty," he says after you come out of the bathroom in your light blue dress, your hair soft and tamed for once. Your stomach flips, both at the compliment and at how handsome Joel looks in his simple white shirt and black pants. He’s not wearing a tie, but he added light blue cufflinks to his sleeves – a detail that undeniably binds you to him, if only for one evening. He watches your eyes flicker over his form, and crosses his arms in front of his chest, and you remember how self conscious he was about the suit.
"You look…hot", you say honestly, before you can change your mind, and watch Joel’s cheeks flush a bright red.
"Don’t say shit like that," he says, hiding behind his frown, but he uncrosses his arms, and shakes his head. "Hot…"
The first button of his shirt is undone, and you have to force yourself to tear your eyes away from the skin that peeks out, can’t look at his hands either or you’ll see his silver watch on his wrist, and definitely won’t let yourself look at those dress pants, held up by a simple black leather belt.
"Let’s go," Joel mumbles, when you’re done trying and failing not to ogle him, and you grab your purse, slip into your shoes, and find Joel staring at you, when you turn around. He’s waiting by the door, but doesn’t open it when you walk over to him. Instead, he lifts his hand up, strokes the back of his hand once over your cheek, eyes trained on your face, and your skin burns.
"We picked a good dress, sweetheart," he says, you’re pleased that he’s pleased, but more than that, you like how he said we. Not a choice he made for you, but one you made together.
***
The ceremony is beautiful, and although you complained about your family to Joel a lot, you cry as soon as you see your cousin in her dress. Joel puts his arm around your shoulder, stroking your arm in a subconscious, comforting way. You lean into him, let yourself revel in the closeness without wondering what anyone will think – every eye in the room is glued to the bride and groom.
"You want a drink?" Joel asks you when people start to get up, talking in little groups. You hope your makeup isn’t all runny from your tears, but before you get a mirror from your purse, Joel cradles your face and wipes his thumb under your eye gently, just once.
"There," he mutters. The movement was quick and caught you off guard, your stomach fluttering uncontrollably. You’re usually better at keeping the butterflies in check.
"Yeah," you say, a second too late, "I gotta get drunk."
Joel chuckles and together you leave the venue, his hand on your waist, holding you tighter than he did during the day. There are tables set up outside in the sun, decorated with flowers and white tablecloths. People are catching up and laughing, basking in the joy of your cousin and her new husband. Joel leads you to the bar, and before you can look at the different drinks, he orders two Gin Tonics.
"There ya go," he says, handing you a cold glass, and you clink them together, before taking a sip. It’s refreshing, the sun burning your skin just slightly, and you enjoy the bitterness of the drink. It tastes like Joel ordered it, it tastes like him.
"There you are," a voice behind you calls, and Joel steps half a step back from you. "Weren’t those the most beautiful vows you’ve ever heard? I still remember when she was just a baby, and now she’s married."
You mother smiles at you and Joel, then at your father.
"Found the booze already, did you, Miller? Bad influence on my little girl," he just says, laughing and looking younger in the sun. Joel clears his throat, and smiles, but it’s forced.
"Well, anyway, we’d better find grandma," your mother tells you, and off they go. Joel exhales and looks at you. You know the comment about being a bad influence on you threw him off, but you smile at him.
"Get me drunk, then," you say softly, and despite it all, Joel smiles back.
***
In the heat, it doesn’t take long for you to become tipsy at the very least, you really shouldn’t drink gin to get rid of your thirst, but it tastes so good, and Joel watches you so intently. You’re sitting at one of the tables, listening to the music blaring from the speakers, your foot conveniently brushing Joel’s leg every time you move it to the beat of the song.
"We’re gonna dance," Joel says when you’re done with your first drink, and you snort.
"Right," you answer, "we’re gonna dance."
Joel doesn’t break the eye contact, just raises one eyebrow.
"Wasn’t the whole point of going to this thing together not having to dance?"
"It was before you enjoyed the music so much," Joel answers, and you stop moving your foot.
"I don’t dance," you say, frowning now, "and neither do you."
Joel takes a long sip from his own drink, emptying the glass. You watch his throat as he swallows, then sighs and looks at you thoughtfully for a few moments.
"I want you to dance," he says quietly, his gravely voice soft all of a sudden, "with me."
Something in your stomach comes alive – it’s one thing, sitting next to him when he points to a dish on his menu, but his eyes on yours as he practically orders you to dance make you feel all fluttery and hot.
"Okay."
"Good," Joel says softly, and you swallow, try hard not to let it show on your face how much your stomach jolts at his words.
The song is some romantic ballad you remember listening to as a teenager, and you can’t imagine Joel dancing at all, least of all to a song like this, but he gets up and holds out one hand. There are more people on the dance floor, swaying to the music, laughing, some kissing. The idea that Joel and you would join them is so absurd, you almost giggle, but Joel wants you to dance – so you’ll dance. You’re dimly aware he isn’t doing this for himself, but because he noticed your foot, but you pretend not to have made that connection.
His hands find your waist and you wrap yours around his neck a little awkwardly, and he sways you to the music. You’re surprised to find he moves with a certain grace you never would have thought possible, but you give a little sigh of relief when the song changes into something faster and upbeat. Joel notices, and chuckles.
"Havin’ fun?"
You suddenly are, and you didn’t expect that at all. There’s more people joining you now, as you sway your hips and grin up at Joel.
"Yeah," you say over the music and laughter, "think you should get me drunk more often, Miller."
Joel laughs, and gently guides you to your right to let a couple you have never seen before pass. You move easily under Joel’s hands, the insecurity about being seen dancing wiped from your mind by the fact that Joel told you to.
Joel’s forehead is slightly damp by the time the fourth song ends and your feet are starting to hurt in the shoes you’re wearing, so you wrap your arms around his neck again, and pull him towards you.
"I want another drink," you tell him, your mouth close to his ear, and he flinches slightly.
"No need to yell, sweetheart," he says, but turns towards the bar anyway. He takes your hand to pull you through the crowd, and your stomach does a sort of somersault. Joel Miller, holding your hand. Before you can think better of it, before you can worry about your parents seeing you, or Joel becoming angry or distant, you intertwine your fingers with his, and hold on tight. Joel turns his head to look back at you, but he doesn’t let go of your hand. He doesn’t say anything either, not while there’s so many people so close, but he squeezes, just once. Your knees become slightly weak, and your cheeks start to heat up, but the gin was strong enough for you to stop caring about your nervousness.
When you’re at the bar, you grin at the barkeeper, hand still in Joel’s, slightly dizzy from the drink and the heat and all the spinning and swaying.
"One sex on the beach, please," you say, then look directly at Joel with a mischievous smile.
"Jesus," he mutters, then turns to the barkeeper. "She’ll have a beer. Bud. One for me too, please."
"No, she’ll have sex on the beach."
You giggle at your obvious innuendo, and the barkeeper smiles. Joel shakes his head.
"Look, I don’t want her throwin’ up all over her dress, she’ll murder me in the mornin’ if I let that happen."
"Beer it is, then," the bar keeper says with a good natured wink at you. You frown at him.
"I’m an adult and I ordered a–"
Joel squeezes your hand again, and you look at him with a slight pout – his eyes are slightly amused, but there’s a stern expression on his face.
"Okay," you say, "okay okay okay, Miller. Whatever you want."
His eyes stay on yours a second too long, then he lets go of your hand and hands you one of the sweating, ice-cold bottles. You take it, put it to your lips and take a swig, all while looking directly into Joel’s eyes. The way you press your lips against the rim of the bottle is a little too calculated, a little too sensual, and Joel watches your movement with a tense expression on his face.
"Christ, kid, I’m gettin’ you water next," he mumbles, watches you swallow, then smile up sweetly at him.
"Whatever you want," you say again. Joel doesn’t answer.
***
The two of you drink your beers at the end of row of tables, and you’re glad for the moment of quiet – the music isn’t as loud here, and the beer is so cold, you get goosebumps. Neither of you is talking much, but it’s a comfortable sort of silence – as always when you’re with Joel, you’re at ease.
"– why they let her bring him, I really don’t."
Two of your great aunts are sitting at a table close by, completely oblivious to your presence.
"Yes, he’s old enough to be her Daddy."
"And so gruff looking!"
Joel looks away, but you’re sure he must have heard – there is nobody else at this wedding they could be talking about. His expression is unreadable, but his knuckles are white around his beer bottle, and you’re half afraid he’s going to shatter it.
"I don’t understand why she’s interested in him," you aunt continues, "but I was just waiting for her to do something like this, you know. She always was so sensitive, no wonder she has to compensate somehow."
You swallow, your cheeks heating up with embarrassment.
"Come on," Joel suddenly says, a deep frown on his face, and he gets up. You follow him, you don’t want to hear the rest of what your family has to say about you behind your back.
"Excuse me," Joel asks politely, when you pass the two elderly ladies. They scooch, so you can squeeze past them, neither of them saying anything. You don’t look at them, but take Joel’s hand in yours again.
"I’m sorry," you say, when you’re at a safe distance from them, no risk of being overheard, "I’m sorry for what they said about you, Joel–"
"No," he shakes his head. "They ain’t wrong about me. Are about you, though."
His face looks so kind, so sorry for you, you feel like crying. You won’t though, not when you’re on what is practically a date with Joel Miller. You won’t let them ruin this night.
"I wanna dance," you say instead, and finish the last of your beer, before putting it on a table close by. "I wanna dance with you, Joel Miller."
He doesn’t argue, lets you drag him onto the dance floor again, and this time you stand close to him, closer than you should, this time you bury your fingers at the back of his neck in his hair. Joel looks hesitant, his hands on your waist tentative.
"Sweetheart," he starts in an apologetic tone, and you know what’s coming – they were right, your parents are here, you’re drunk, this is reckless. You squeeze closer, until you’re all pressed up against him, your heart hammering right against Joel’s chest. You really are tipsy now, but you don’t care. You lean up, trying to reach Joel’s mouth with yours, but he holds you steady at your waist.
"No," he says softly, "you’re doin’ it to piss of your family."
He’s not entirely wrong, so you let up, but you stay close to him, and after a couple of minutes, his thumb starts drawing circles on your skin, the way he did all throughout the weekend to soothe you, even before you kissed him and turned this into…whatever it is now.
"Let’s do shots after this," you say with a smile, "lets vomit all over their ugly fucking clothes. They want me to fuck up this party so bad, I’ll fuck it up. Gotta compensate somehow."
"I think you’ve had enough, kid," Joel says, his voice just slightly concerned. "You’ll have a headache tomorrow."
"Oh, you’ll pace me," you answer, "given that you’re old enough to be my Daddy."
Joel’s thumb stops moving on your hip, and you smile up at him, which only makes his frown deepen. There’s something else there, too, something you recognize from when you kissed him, from when he saw you in your dress, from when you told him about your family for the first time.
"I wanna kiss you," you admit, "again."
The word tastes delicious in your mouth, your reminder that you have before, that Joel didn’t stop you, that he kissed you back.
"You won’t," Joel answers sternly, and you don’t even think about arguing with him, not when he’s using that tone. The same tone he used to tell you which dress to get.
"Okay," you say softly.
***
Joel does pace you – he doesn’t let you do shots, instead he gets you water, tells you to drink it all, and once again you chug it while looking directly at him, then smile sweetly and watch him shake his head in a mix of exasperation and amusement. After a while you tell Joel you need the bathroom, and when he leads you there you wonder briefly if he thinks you’re too drunk to find it on your own, or if he hates the idea of being alone at this party as much as you do. You’ve sobered up throughout the night, all that water Joel practically poured down your throat seems to have worked.
There is a line in front of the bathroom, and you wait with your grandmother and Joel – an awkward constellation, the silence is thick enough to cut.
"Your dress is awfully low cut, honey," she says after a while, and your eyes meet Joel’s just briefly – told you so. "You’re such a pretty girl, but that just gives the wrong impression."
"And what impression would that be?" you ask, but you don’t want to fight. Their age allows your family to say whatever they want to say, even if it’s not candor, but unprovoked opinions you tell yourself don’t matter anymore.
"I picked that dress," Joel says after a moment, and your grandmother nods.
"Of course men would like it," she says wisely, "but as a woman you have to be above that sort of thing."
You sigh, and Joel puts a gentle hand on your shoulder.
"I like this dress, grandma. It’s not 1850, Joel won’t fall into fits of lust if he sees my ankle."
"He can see a bit more than that, honey."
You make a gesture between a shrug and throwing up your hands, as if to say, well, I tried.
"He’s gonna have to take it off, then, if it’s that awful," you mumble so quietly your grandmother can’t hear, but Joel does. He looks at you with an unreadable expression on his face, and your cheeks go slightly red – you didn’t mean for it to come out the way it did, didn’t mean for it to sound so straightforward.
"Stop harassing her, Mom, this is how kids dress these days," a voice behind you says, and suddenly your mother is right next to you, your father not far behind. Although her words are intended to help you, they sting – that’s all your choices are to them, a product of your youth and the times you live in. God forbid you, an adult, wear a dress because you think you look pretty, it must be because it’s what everyone your age would wear.
Joel’s hand leaves your shoulder, and for a second you’re afraid your parents heard what you said about Joel taking off your dress, but they proceed to talk about the wedding, laughing and joking. You clench your fists, digging the sharp edges of your nails into your palms as hard as you can. It feels like being 12 all over again, their comments that aren’t necessarily ill-intended or mean, so you can’t really be mad about them, the way they don’t even notice they upset you.
You feel a very soft touch on your arm, barely there, just a brush of a finger from just above your elbow, down to your fist. Then it’s gone again, and although you don’t dare look at Joel after he touched your bare skin in front of your parents, you will your muscles to relax, knowing it’s what Joel meant to tell you with his touch. Your fingers unclench, and you feel distantly relieved at the absence of pain in your palms.
You know how reckless it is to be so into Joel, you know nothing good can come of it, but you don’t remember the last time you spent this much time with your whole family and felt so seen by someone at the event. For a second you envision kissing him here, on the dance floor, in front of your parents, and you know for once it would be a choice you wouldn’t question or be made to feel ashamed of.
You tried to, just hours before, and Joel stopped you, because you did it to piss of your family. He was right, in that moment you wanted to give them something worth criticizing, if they must criticize all of the time. But this time it’s different – you want to kiss Joel because he doesn’t think you’re a narcissist, because he sees your anger disguised by politeness and doesn’t think it’s ugly.
You turn to him, steadfast in your decision.
"I’m really tired," you say quietly, "we could just go upstairs, I can use the bathroom there."
Joel studies your face for a second, then nods.
"Alright," he agrees, and you turn around to your parents with a newfound confidence.
"I’m gonna use our bathroom upstairs," you tell them, "we’re going to bed anyways."
"Of course, honey, you go to bed," your mother answers and gives you a quick hug, "but Joel, why don’t you stay? You’re not her chaperone."
It’s a joke, you know it is, but it almost makes your blood boil. After your mother asked you to spend some time with Joel as a favor, after you’ve had to deal with judgmental stares and comments all night, after both you and Joel were insulted by your own family behind your backs, they still have the nerve to talk over you, disregard what you said, pretend you’re a child in need of supervision. You open your mouth, surprised by how ready you are to give them a piece of your mind, but Joel’s fingers brush your waist, squeezing gently, and he smiles at your mother.
"I ain’t the kinda man to stay at a party if my date’s leavin’," he says, and although it’s not particularly rude, there is an edge to his voice, a certain tone that suggests he’s sticking to you out of a kind of loyalty they weren’t aware of, and that he is unhappy with what your mother said. You watch your parents, see your father’s eyes flicker down to Joel’s hand on your waist, and although his expression is unreadable, and he doesn’t say anything, you feel triumphant. There you go, you want to say, someone here is willing to take me seriously.
"Good night, Dad," you say, give him a hug, too, and suppress a smile, when Joel’s hand returns to your side as soon as you step over to him. He smiles down at you, and shrugs out of his suit jacket.
"’S probably cold out, put this on."
You do, all too aware of your parents looking at you, all too aware that for some reason Joel doesn’t seem afraid of them noticing your closeness anymore. You thank him, and he says good night to your parents, ever friendly, but decidedly choosing you. His scent envelops you when you walk away together, the warmth of his body still stored in the fabric of his jacket now warming you.
***
You inhale deeply, push the air from your lungs into your mouth to puff up your cheeks, and sit down on the bed. Your feet hurt from spending all night in your fancy shoes, and your mind won’t stop running circles around the comments your family made. You wiggle your toes, watch them move under the fabric of your tights, then look up at Joel again.
"You look worried," he comments, reaching up to his throat to pop open the first two buttons of his shirt. You can’t help but stare at the skin that it reveals, slightly shiny with sweat.
"That was…a lot."
Joel hums, and slips out of his shoes, too.
"I think you did well."
A glowing feeling builds in your chest, and you can’t help but smile, looking at your fingernails.
"Didn’t throw any drinks into anyone’s faces, so I guess it’s a successful night."
Joel chuckles, the sound a deep rumble in his chest. He sits down on the foot of the bed, still watching you, looking excruciatingly handsome in his button down and slacks.
"That, too, but more so…you didn’t let them talk down to you. Didn’t just agree with your granny, you know? Stood your ground. ’M real prouda you."
There it is again, the pull in your stomach whenever Joel seems to really see you, and before you can think about it, you move over to Joel, until you’re sitting right in front of him, his broad body turned towards you, you kneeling on the white sheets. Joel’s eyes move over your face, down to your dress, your legs in those itchy tights you can’t wait to get out of.
"Did it help?" His voice is soft. "Me tellin’ you what to do?"
You nod, unsure of where this is going, nervous and so content at the same time. This is Joel, the same Joel who held you at the beach and ordered for you, who picked out your dress. He’ll know what to do, he’ll know what’s best.
"I don’t want you to stop," you admit, eyes wide and staring into Joel’s, "when we get back home. I wish we could just…"
You don’t know how to finish that sentence, aware that what you truly wish for isn’t in the cards for you and him, not while he’s your parents’ friend first. Joel sighs, but doesn’t answer. No me too, no we can’t, not even a nod or head shake. A man of few words, Joel Miller.
"You got my number," he says after a few beats, "can…ask for my help, y’know, when you’re pickin’ out headbands."
Without you being aware of it, your face splits into a smile, and you feel tears prick at your eyes. The kindness Joel offers even the sickest parts of you is unmatched, and you’re unsure what to do with it.
"Hey now," he says and puts a soothing hand on your shoulder, "don’t cry, sweetheart. Don’t cry."
You stop, because Joel told you to, your body by now accustomed to answering his command. With a shaky inhale, you calm yourself, and swallow.
"Sorry," you mutter, but Joel shakes his head.
"What’s got you hurtin’?"
The question is so blunt, so heartfelt.
"Nobody else…gets this," you explain, "it’s lonely."
Joel hums, and his fingers start moving on your shoulder, stroking your skin gently, soothingly.
"Don’t have to be anymore, kid. My door’s always open."
He’s close to you, and when you meet his eyes, there is static in the air between you. Something changed, between telling him about your family and him lending you his jacket, something shifted. It’s palpable, real electricity.
"Tell me what you need," Joel says quietly into the silence, because he can feel those unspoken things, because he knows there is something you need in the first place. It’s easy to tell him this time, without embarrassment or shame.
"I need you to tell me what to do," you whisper, scooching closer to him, his hand still lingering on your shoulder. You watch him swallow, aware that with any other man seeing how your words affect him would gross you out, but with Joel it just makes that pull in your stomach stronger. Joel doesn’t answer for a long while as he’s staring into your open, waiting eyes.
"Lie back," he orders quietly, voice gravelly and low. You feel a pang of want in your stomach so intense it’s almost painful, and your mouth goes dry. Joel watches you move, shuffle out of his suit jacket until you’re just in your dress and stockings, then lie back on the pillow, eyes still on him. You’re quiet, waiting for his next instruction, your mind blissfully empty.
"Good," Joel praises you, and your eyes flutter just briefly, giving away how much this is affecting you. Joel chuckles, and gets up from the bed, turning to face you fully, looking broad and handsome and very safe.
"You enjoy that, huh?"
There’s no condescension in his voice, just acknowledgement and warmth. You nod, and Joel smiles.
"Take off your tights."
You do, letting them drop onto the floor next to the bed, Joel still standing in front of you with his hands on his hips. He looks casual, relaxed, not at all like he’s watching his friend’s daughter undress herself because he asked her to. He moves over to you, and puts one broad palm on your bare leg, his fingers slipping under the hem just slightly.
"This will have consequences," he tells you seriously, "you aware of that?"
It’s the adult, responsible thing to have a conversation about what’s happening between you too, but you wish he would just get on with it.
"I am," you answer a little breathlessly, as Joel’s thumb is drawing circles on your skin and driving you crazy.
"You ready to face them?"
The question is laden with all you shared with him before: are you ready to do the thing your family would disapprove of the most, head high and without giving into their judgement? Two months ago, you wouldn’t have been. The idea of their disappointment would have swallowed you, the look on your father’s face as he noticed Joel’s hand on your waist paralyzed you. But it’s almost like a flip switched inside of you through Joel’s consistent understanding, and suddenly your grandmother’s outrage seems almost funny to you. You want this. And you’re ready to stand in for what you want, without shame.
"Yes," you breathe, "I really am, Joel."
You can see on his face he believes you, the way his crowfeet grow more pronounced with something like pride, and pleasure flushes your whole body, seeing how much your answer pleases Joel.
"Come a long way, sweetheart," he says, his hand moving upwards just slightly, pushing the hem of your dress up. You keep yourself from trembling under his touch, hanging onto the last bit of dignity and restraint you have left.
"’M real prouda you," he says again, the muscles in your stomach flexing at his words. "Now why don’t you tell me what you want me to do to ya?"
You’re no good at that. What you want is to take whatever Joel gives you, to follow his every command and let your mind go quiet in the process. But he’s commanding you to think about what you want yourself, so you dig your front teeth into your bottom lip and furrow your eyebrows just slightly.
"I…um…"
Joel waits, his hand patient and gentle on your leg.
"Remember I told you not to feel guilty?"
It’s not guilt, per se, but something distinctly feminine, something taught and learned over years. Just lie back and take it, the first time always hurts, women don’t finish as often as men do. You haven’t thought of sex as something meant to firstly fulfill your desire, as irrational as it sounds. It was a means to satisfying a partner, your own pleasure a nice side effect. Joel is telling you to leave that in the past, to really think about what you want and tell him without shame.
"I want you inside," you whisper, eyes wide and heart hammering against your ribcage with anticipation and the thrill of giving into your need. "And I…I like it when you talk to me."
At those words, Joel’s eyes seem to grow dark, you watch his pupils dilate in real time, and his fingers dig into the meat of your calf.
"Attagirl," he mumbles, and the heat in your stomach peaks. Joel stares at you for a moment. "Turn onto your belly, sweetheart."
You do so without hesitation, without wondering what he’s going to do, and let your cheek sink into the pillow that smells so much like Joel, your calf still enveloped by his massive palm. Joel hums, and then his touch is gone, only to reappear on your back, his hands teasing the satiny, light blue fabric he picked for you to wear. He runs his fingers from the small of your back up to the nape of your neck, and you can’t help but shudder when he grazes your bare skin.
"Let’s get this pretty dress off of ya, hm?"
He pops open the two tiny buttons at the very top, smoothes down the zipper to reveal your bare back. You’re about to be naked in front of a very much dressed Joel Miller, and the thought is exhilarating more than frightening.
"Looked so goddamn beautiful all night," Joel mutters, "wearin’ the clothes I picked. Jesus, you’ve no idea what that does to a man."
You can’t help the whine that escapes your mouth, when Joel’s hands dig into your muscles, kneading them softly and turning your body into liquid.
"So tense, baby, gotta relax f’me."
"I’m trying," you answer softly, and Joel chuckles.
"Know you are, know you are. Doin’ so good."
You close your eyes and let Joel touch you how he pleases, your brain quieter than you can remember it being with a man before him. There’s no fear of what he’ll do if your attention slips, no worry about putting on the right act for him either. Just Joel, his warm hands on your back, and your sore and needy body.
Joel helps you turn around and out of the dress since it doesn’t unzip entirely, moves your arms and legs how he wants so it’s off within a few moments, and you’re lying there on your back in front of him, wearing nothing but your nicest pair of panties and a soft bra to match them.
"Fuckin’ hell," Joel mutters more to himself than to you, eyes raking over your body. You remember the instinct to feel ashamed at his scrutiny, vaguely register you should cover yourself up, but the pride and pleasure triumph. He sees you, and he likes what he sees, in more ways than one. So you shimmy your hips into a sexier position, trail your fingers up your stomach and watch Joel’s eyes follow them. You squirm with need when you notice a very visible tent in Joel’s slacks.
"Alright?" he asks, voice kind and patient, like it would be okay if you weren’t.
You nod, slightly overwhelmed and Joel’s brows furrow just slightly.
"Use your words," he says softly, making your stomach flip.
"I’m alright," you answer softly, your eyes on his. Joel drags his fingertips over your stomach, following your own hand and building the tension and anticipation. You try hard not to visibly clench your thighs together.
"You gonna do as I say?"
He knows the answer. You know he does.
"Yes," you breathe, the feeling of his fingertips trailing over your ribcage bordering on overwhelming. He hums.
"I want you to tell me if it’s too much," he says, voice thoughtful, "will you do that for me?"
"Yes," you say again, your own hand absentmindedly coming up to wrap around his tan forearm, eyes glued to his rolled up sleeve, that silver watch Sarah gave him catching the light with every movement. Joel’s eyes follow yours, and you wonder if he registers how big his palm looks on your skin. If he wanted to, he could touch your bra with his thumb and your panties with his pinkie. The thought makes you squirm.
"I want you to touch yourself," Joel says softly, fingers dipping only just under the waistband of your panties, and you will your hips to stay put, even though you’re one command away from humping his hand like a dog in heat. You flush at his words, the idea of it so lewd and obscene, so intimate. It’s one thing to let him fuck you, to offer him some sort of utility, but to have him watch you get off yourself – it’s everything sex isn’t, not with the people you were with before.
"I…I don’t…"
Your voice trails off, and Joel watches you for a few moments, your pink cheeks, heavy eyelids, the goosebumps on your skin.
"You don’t gotta do anythin’ you don’t want to," he says, voice soft, "but if you do want to, and it’s just your pretty little head tellin’ you not to, I want you to think twice about sayin’ no."
You listen to him, and think about the feeling in your gut. You’re nervous about letting him see something so private, but not because you don’t want him to see, but because he does. He wants to see your pleasure, and so far it’s something you pushed down for other people, not just during sex. It’s easy to give into him when you realize this, and you feel something crack open inside of you, something primal and unashamed.
"Okay," you answer, voice still a little timid, but with a newfound conviction. "Anything you want."
Joel smiles at your words, but you’re aware he’s telling you to do this for your sake more than his. He wants you to feel good about feeling good.
Before you can move your hand to obey, Joel moves closer, leans down and presses his hand right next to your face, his face close to yours. You can feel the heat of his breath on your lips and shudder.
"Good girl," he says softly and presses his lips to yours. You kiss back willingly, eagerly, but he breaks the kiss all too soon, and finally sits down on the bed next to you, facing your half naked body.
"Go ahead, pretty girl," he mutters, "show me what you do when I ain’t around."
You flush, but do as he says, dragging your fingers down to your panties and slipping them in.
"You leave those on when you touch yourself?" Joel asks with a nod towards your underwear, and you shrug and shake your head at the same time. He chuckles.
"Take ’em off, then."
You swallow, and slowly drag them down. A string of your wetness connects the fabric and your pulsing core, and you flush a deeper red, the sight obscene.
"Christ," Joel mumbles, "all that from some pettin’ and a kiss."
"It’s from what you...from hearing you talk," you admit timidly, sitting up slightly to slip off your panties completely. You look at Joel and his dark eyes are glued to your wetness, but when he notices how nervous you are, he strokes your cheek with his knuckle just once.
"Look so pretty," he tells you, "just how I imagined."
That makes your brain short circuit and your eyes flutter closed at the image of Joel imagining you naked, of him wanting you as badly as you want him.
"Keep those eyes on me, sweetheart," Joel orders, and you open them again, the tension somehow doubling as soon as your eyes meet.
"I’ve never done this in front of someone," you admit, your hand awkwardly hovering over your stomach.
"Tell you what, you touch yourself for just three minutes, and then I’ll take over."
It’s absurd. It should not be sexy to have him time you touching yourself as if you’re running a race, but something about it makes you squirm and clench around nothing. When Joel looks at his watch, you almost moan, and tentatively press your middle finger against your aching clit.
"There we go," Joel mumbles, watching your hand move, "doin’ good, sweetheart."
You want to close your eyes, but Joel told you to look at him, so you watch him watch you touch yourself, his gaze flickering to his watch every once in a while. You don’t slip any fingers inside, just tease your clit, but Joel doesn’t seem to mind, and after exactly three minutes, he leans down to reward you with a kiss.
"All done, baby."
You’re lightheaded with want, the embarrassment not quite gone, but distant. When Joel props himself up onto one elbow, his other hand finding your stomach again, you sigh. He’s looking right into your eyes, when he drags his hand lower and lower, until his fingers find the place you just touched yourself, so much bigger than yours. He presses down lightly, teasingly, watching you bite your bottom lip and arch into his touch.
"Hips stay on the bed," he says softly, just to watch you obey, pressing a kiss to your temple. He starts rubbing slow circles, unhurried and practiced, and already you feel the pleasure building and building inside of you. You whine softly, craning your neck for a kiss, and he obliges, his beard scratching your skin and mouth swallowing your sounds. You try hard not to twitch under his touch, which is both so intense and torturously slow.
When the muscles in your stomach start clenching with your impending release, you can’t help yourself and press into his hand, chasing the pleasure, but Joel presses your hips into the mattress with the heel of his palm, never stopping the movement of his fingers. You’re close, so close you feel your jaw slacken against Joel, sigh into his mouth – and suddenly his touch is gone. Instead, his hand starts rubbing your side soothingly, your promise of release fading again.
"Joel," you whine, "what the fuck."
"Language," Joel scolds with a chuckle and kisses the corner of your mouth. "Patience is a virtue."
You nip at his lower lip, not harsh enough to hurt him, just so he registers your discontent, and Joel laughs a quiet laugh right into your mouth. Despite his amusement, his fingers return to your core, gathering wetness and rubbing once again. A whimper escapes your mouth when he finally prods your entrance teasingly, without real pressure, just to make you want it.
"You gonna lie still?"
"Y-yes," you sigh, "yes, I promise."
Joel hums, and pushes in just slightly, just so that his fingernail is barely inside of you.
"Gonna bite me again?"
"No," you answer, "no, Joel."
He pushes his finger inside of you, curling it upwards instantly, and you mewl.
"That’s alright, sweetheart," he mumbles, "I can handle your bitin’. Know it’s frustratin’."
But he makes no attempt to stop his teasing, sliding his finger in and out of you slowly, and curling it just enough to make the pressure inside of you keep building without intending to let it snap. Absentmindedly you move with him, and Joel stills his fingers. You whine, but stop moving, and he presses down on that spot inside of you again.
"Attagirl," he mutters, pressing a kiss to your jaw.
You’re close again embarrassingly soon, and even though you try not to let it show to trick Joel into letting you finish, he notices the way you flutter around him, and stills his hand once again, letting your orgasm drift away.
"Fuck," you whine, frustrated and so turned on you think you might get there if he so much as blew on your swollen clit.
"Shhh," Joel soothes you, adding another finger, the stretch delicious. He gazes into your open eyes, watches you as he makes you feel so good you could cry.
"Easy," he says, when he feels your stomach tense up with effort – whether to come or not to come, you aren’t sure anymore. "Easy, baby. Relax for me."
You close your eyes and this time Joel doesn’t object, as your whole body goes limp and accepts Joel’s power over it.
"Good," Joel mutters, "that’s real good. You come when I tell you to."
And suddenly you don’t fight it anymore, don’t try to race him there, just lie there with Joel’s thick fingers pumping in and out of you almost lazily, pleasure coming and going as Joel chooses, making your brain go all fuzzy.
"Sweet girl," Joel mutters, "just had to give in, huh?"
You don’t bother to answer, just open your mouth for him when he kisses you.
"Think you’re ready for my cock?"
You almost, almost come. He slips his fingers out of you completely when he notices, and your hips chase his hand, but the feeling is gone again, although it was close enough to taste. Joel chuckles, and it’s just a tiny bit mean, but it makes you even wetter.
"Think you are, huh?"
"Yes," you say, and run your hand up his massive arm, "please."
"So polite," Joel mumbles with a smile, but he finally moves to unbutton his shirt and you watch him through heavy eyes. He smiles down at you, no trace of embarrassment as he’s revealing more and more of his skin dusted in age spots and brown hair. He’s strong, soft in all the right places, and you want to worship his belly with your mouth.
"You look…so sexy."
Joel laughs, and shakes his head, deflecting the compliment but looking a little smug, a little proud, as he lets his shirt drop onto the floor and moves to open his pants. You sit up, and reach for his hands, looking up at him questioningly.
"Go right ahead, sweetheart," Joel says, and you pop open the button and slide down the zipper, eyes glued to his bulge. He gets up to slip out of his slacks, the outline of his cock even more pronounced in his boxer shorts. He looks big. You swallow.
"Don’t you worry," Joel mumbles when he notices, and slides down his boxers, too. "We’ll make it fit."
His cock is hard and an angry red, long and thick and slightly curved, and he hasn’t shaved. With anyone else, you would have preferred it if he had, but the graying hair at the base of his cock makes you lightheaded with lust. He looks so manly, in the primal, safe sense of the word.
His fist wraps around himself as he’s climbing on top of you, pumping once, twice, a little groan of pleasure escaping his lips and you reach down to bat his hand away, to return some of the pleasure he has been giving you. He lets you, even though your hand covers much less of his length, and pushes into your hand as you drag it over him.
"Hips stay on the mattress," you tease softly, and Joel laughs, his eyes all crinkly and warm.
"One more comment like that ’n I’ll force you to the edge five more times, sweetheart," he threatens, but the amusement is evident in his voice. Still, it makes you clench and flutter to know he could, to know you’d let him. Joel takes your wrist in his hand gently, and pulls your hand away from his cock, then aligns it with your entrance.
"Breathe in," he says softly, looking right into your eyes, and you do, staring at him unblinkingly and holding the air in your lungs.
"And breathe out."
As the air rushes out of you and you relax, he starts pushing into you. The stretch is painful in the very beginning, but you sigh in relief when the head of his cock is inside and Joel gives you a moment to breathe.
"Look at you," he mutters, nudging your nose with his, "takin’ it like a champ."
You wiggle your hips and Joel keeps pushing into you, the stretch making your eyes fall closed again. It feels like your body is making room for him in a way you didn’t think possible, like your insides are parting for Joel Miller’s cock. He groans, and with a snap of his hips he’s inside of you entirely, his wiry hairs pressing into your mound. The head of his cock is nudging that spot inside of you, pressing against it insistently even though Joel isn’t moving. You mouth at his neck, tongue darting out to taste his sweat and suck on his skin in an almost soothing manner, as your body adjusts and relaxes.
Joel starts moving in and out of you after a few moments, changing angles with every thrust, until a whine escapes your throat. He keeps fucking into you like that, pressing against your spot with every thrust, eyes staring down into yours.
"That it?"
You mewl, when he gives a particularly sharp thrust and Joel chuckles.
"Yeah, that’s it," he coos.
His hands start moving over your skin as you claw at his back and biceps, teasing your sides and ghosting over your nipples still covered by the fabric of your bra. He forces his hands under your body and unclasps it with ease, then pulls it away from your body and drops it. His eyes flicker down and he puts a large palm over your tits, groping and squeezing, then pinching the nipple just short of painful.
"Perfect fuckin’ tits," he mumbles, rolling the pebbled nub between his thumb and forefinger, making you arch your chest and moan freely. Again, the pleasure starts building, and you think Joel might be distracted by his own this time. More than anything you want to please him, though, so instead of chasing your release, you clench around him and focus on not letting go yet.
"Close," you groan, your body rocking with Joel’s deep thrusts, and he stills inside of you, letting you breathe into his mouth.
"Good girl," he mumbles and kisses your lower lip, "so good for me."
Just those few words would be worth not coming at all, you think, though Joel starts moving again when he’s sure it won’t make you come. His hand moves from your tit up to your throat, wrapping around it loosely. You feel so small under his massive palm, your windpipe and major arteries and spine all fitting into his hand like you’re a blade of grass. He squeezes softly, just enough to cut off the blood flow for a second or two, then relaxes his hand again. Your eyes roll upwards, and you bite your lip.
"Yeah?" he asks, waiting for your permission, and you nod.
"Yeah," you sigh, and your eyes widen when he squeezes again, all the while thrusting in and out of you. This time he squeezes for a couple of seconds more, and although it takes a little more effort, air still rushes into your lungs. When he releases your throat and the blood floods your brain, you moan, and feel Joel’s thrusts go slightly more erratic in response.
"Look at you," he mumbles, pressing his hips into yours, his whole weight on top of you. You whine and feel his hand close around your throat once more. This time his grip is unrelenting and stronger, and there is no oxygen rushing into your lungs, just stillness and quiet. You feel yourself go slightly dizzy, watch Joel’s warm eyes glued to your face, and feel your mind go entirely quiet.
"That’s it," Joel praises, "you breathe when I say you breathe."
You’ve never been closer than now, hearing those words, and when Joel releases you to let you suck in air desperately, you almost, almost come. But once again, he stops moving, lets you teeter on the edge and pull back, your brain fuzzy and overwhelmed with the sudden rush of blood and oxygen.
"What do we say?"
You groan into his mouth.
"Thank you."
"Good girl."
Joel’s thrusts start getting sharper, even deeper, and you know it can’t be long now. He keeps squeezing and releasing your throat, keeping you deprived of oxygen and letting it flood your brain again with the smallest movement of his hand.
"Need me to decide that, too?" he asks breathily, his voice rough and slightly broken, "need me to pick out that dress ’n tell you what to eat? Even when to breathe?"
You nod under his hand because he’s once again tightening his grip around you, rendering you incapable of speaking, and you clench around him. He feels it, thrusts harder.
"Yeah," he mutters, "don’t gotta worry about anythin’. I got you, babygirl. I’ll decide."
Your stomach cramps up with the effort of holding off your orgasm until Joel gives you permission, and when he finally lets you breathe again, he brushes the shell of your ear with his lips.
"Come for me, sweetheart."
It feels like your earth shatters, your vision going white, or maybe your brain just can’t register what it’s seeing, as you pulse around Joel, and shake under his broad body, your stomach exploding with pleasure. He fucks you through it, his thrusts so unwaveringly deep he presses into your clit every time. You shudder and whine, suck in air, come completely apart in Joel’s capable hands, and vaguely register him forcing his cock as deep as it will go, and then pumping you full of his hot spend, holding it there as he fills you up.
His thrusts slow after a while, then he slips out of you, and kisses you gently, softly, his fingers stroking your neck soothingly. You’re pliant and fucked out, entirely boneless.
"My sweet girl," Joel mumbles against your lips, "that what you needed?"
You nod, your eyes and limbs heavy as he brushes your cheeks and nose with his lips. He lies down next to you, muscles completely relaxed, and pulls you close against him. You can feel the mess you both made between you legs and distantly think you should clean yourself up, but you’re too tired, too satisfied, too blissfully happy. Your limbs are heavy, and your mind still when you kiss Joel’s chest, his hair tickling your face softly. He hums contentedly, a deep rumble in his chest.
"’M gonna fall asleep," you mumble against Joel, and he strokes your back in response, his arm draped over your side.
"That’s okay, sweetheart," he mutters, and you feel him kiss the top of your head. "Okay if I clean you up?"
You hum in agreement, yawn, and try to scooch even closer to his sweaty body, press yourself against him as if you will fuse with him if you just try hard enough. Joel’s arms around you tighten and you give into your blissful exhaustion.
A very special thanks to my friend @daryltwdixon who was my beta reader and helped me with my English (fuck this language) <3 she also came up with the idea of Joel making reader thank him for letting her breathe again after choking her, so now I’m making you all thank her. Love u, May, thanks for the help <3
